Harry Potter and the Draught of Life
by The Next Man
Summary: In another world, Filius Flitwick was a Gryffindor. In another world, Alice Longbottom was a Healer. In another world, Harry sought out more about his parents. In another world, things turned out quite differently... COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: The Professor Arrives

Harry Potter picked up the letter and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no relatives but the Dursleys… he didn't even belong to the library, so it couldn't be a rude note asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

_ Mr. Harry J. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey_

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry headed back to the kitchen, tossing his letter into his cupboard and closing the door. Vernon would never let him see it if he knew, he thought, heart pounding with excitement. Harry's fat old uncle went out of his way to make Harry miserable, punishing him for things that he couldn't possibly have done, making him live in a small cupboard, keeping food from him… If you could think of something to make another person unhappy, Vernon did it to Harry. He even allowed Dudley to hit Harry, as long as he didn't do it in public. The Dursley's were, after all, obsessed with public appearances.

Harry dropped the other letters and went back to his seat. Dudley had a big chair with armrests and an incredibly soft plush cushion, and was eating fresh pancakes with syrup. Harry had a small stool, which had no top, having long ago lost the wooden seat. He arranged himself as best he could on the four wooden legs, and spooned up some oatmeal from the small bowl in front of him.

Vernon ripped open a bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over a postcard. "Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. I told her to stay away from that foreign food…" Harry ignored this, letting the inane chatter fade away, and concentrated on his oatmeal.

A few minutes later, Harry had finished his pitiful meal. He waited, trying to be patient, as Vernon continued to read through the letters, and finally interrupted him. "Sir, may I be excused?"

Vernon glared at him, his default expression when looking at Harry. "Are you finished?"

"Yes sir."

Petunia peered at his bowl, which was scraped clean. "He's done, dear," she said grudgingly.

"So may I go?" Harry said hopefully.

"Fine, go," Vernon shrugged. "But don't make any noise."

Harry slipped away, only barely holding back from running to his letter. After carefully shutting the door to his cupboard and turning on the tiny lamp he had stolen from Dudley, he tore open the letter and pulled out what was in it. On thick, heavy paper; no, it was more like parchment, he read:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
_Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confed. of Wizards)

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment, as well as a ticket for the Hogwarts Express from King's Cross Station. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

_Yours sincerely,  
_Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Harry read it again, finding it hard to believe. A school of magic? He was going to a school of _magic?_ It had to be a prank of some sort, a joke. Another trick by his 'family', trying to make him despair. There was no reason to think that it was real.

And yet… something within Harry seemed to perk up, thinking _'yes, this is true'._ He felt an odd surge of joy when he considered going to this Hogwarts, and the name of Dumbledore seemed somewhat familiar… Harry absentmindedly slipped out the other sheet of parchment in the letter, the list of things he'd need to get. He hoped that the school had some sort of loan system that he could use, though, as he didn't have any sort of money to buy things with.

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_**

_Uniform_

_First-year students will require:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_2. Three sets of underclothes_

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide)_

_4. One winter cloak (black)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

_Course books_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1),_ by Miranda Goshawk_

A History of Magic, _by Bathilda Bagshot_

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration,_ by Emetic Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, _by Phyllida Spore_

Magical Drafts and Potions, _by Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ by Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection,_ by Quentin Trimble_

_Other equipment_

_Wand_

_Cauldron set (pewter, standard size)_

_Glass or crystal phials_

_Telescope set_

_Brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad OR a snake OR a dog. For magical analogues, send an inquiry  
_

_Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks._

Harry gaped. This was… this was _ridiculous_. Wands? Robes? Where on earth was he supposed to find this stuff? He didn't notice that he had stopped thinking of the whole thing as a joke, instead wondering if there was a way to contact Hogwarts and get some help. The letter had mentioned his owl. What was that about? Did they expect him to just go out, catch an owl, tie a letter to its leg, and say "off you go, girl?" Eventually, he decided that there was no other way to do it; he'd have to send a letter.

Of course, he had no paper, pens, or stamps. But he knew that Vernon had a home office upstairs, and there would probably be some in there. Harry stole a quick look at his relatives, still eating their massive breakfast. Petunia had finished hers and was now reading the newspaper, but it didn't look like any of them would be leaving the table soon. Typical, their day didn't really start until eleven. Harry had to get up at six every day to make all of this for them, and not a bit of it went to him.

Harry ignored his old grumblings about the Dursleys and quietly climbed the stairs, carefully stepping over the creaky stair halfway up. It wasn't hard to find the door to Vernon's office, and a quick search through the drawers of the large wooden desk uncovered paper and an envelope. He found a stack of stamp sheets and slipped out a single sheet from near the bottom, tearing off one stamp and putting it back in the middle; no sense in letting them find out, after all. Harry then swiftly looked around for a pen that wouldn't be missed, finally taking one from an unopened box and closing it carefully. The black-haired boy quietly snuck downstairs just as he heard Petunia close the newspaper and ask, "What would you like to do today, Duddykins?"

Harry stifled a laugh as he reentered his cupboard and pressed the paper up against the wall. Uncapping the pen, he carefully wrote:

_To Professor McGonagall,_

Before frowning and adding:

_Or whomever it may concern,_

_I received an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, but unfortunately, I don't know where to go to purchase the necessary books and equipment. I also don't have any money to buy them with. Is there a student loan program of some sort? Finally, I need transportation to King's Cross._

Harry read it over; was it formal enough? After a moment, he added:

_I apologize for the inconvenience._

And then signed it. He waved about the sheet for a moment to dry the ink fully before folding it into his envelope, addressing it simply to:

_Hogwarts_

Last, he added the stamp. He gave his letter, the first he'd ever written, a look of pride. He'd done quite well, he thought, and stuck it under his baggy shirt.

"Sir!" he called, stepping out of his cupboard.

"What is it, boy?" Vernon shouted.

"I'm going out for a bit of a walk."

"Be back by two!" Vernon ordered. "We're going out to the zoo and leaving you with Mrs. Figg this time!"

"Is her leg better now, sir?"

"Yes, yes, now get going!"

Harry smirked as he walked outside and headed down to the pick-up letterbox on the corner. That had been _easy_.

* * *

About a week later was Harry's birthday, and he was hoping to get another letter from Hogwarts soon, he so volunteered to go get the mail that morning. Vernon glared at him suspiciously before allowing it, and he struggled not to dash down the hall in anticipation. Surely, they would have responded by now, right?

But when he bent to pick up the mail, he couldn't see another letter in distinctive yellowish parchment with emerald ink. His heart sunk as he straightened up, and he turned and began to walk back to the kitchen.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Harry froze. Someone was at the door. "Get the door, boy!" Vernon shouted from the kitchen, so he dumped the letters and turned to open the door. It took him a moment to unstuck the handle, but he soon swung the door open.

Standing there was a small man, only slightly taller than Harry's four and a half feet. He was old and wrinkled with a wide smile and twinkling brown eyes. Completely bald, his wispy white mustache stretched several feet from his face, and he wore deep blue robes with a bronze collar. A pointy hat that matched his robes sat on his head, and as Harry met his eyes, he felt a small shiver go down his spine. "Hello!" he squeaked. "My name is Professor Filius Flitwick, from Hogwarts. May I come in?"

Harry blinked. "Er, yeah, sure. Sir!" He called down the hall to Vernon. "It's a professor! I'm taking him to the sitting room, okay?"

He heard Vernon talking to Petunia for a moment, saying, "Why would a professor come? Dudley's done fine in school…"

Harry only caught a few words of Petunia's response; "ungrateful brat… my god… eleven…"

Professor Flitwick frowned as Vernon and Petunia came out from the kitchen. The big fat man took in the little professor with a growl as the tiny man smiled. "He's not going," Vernon snapped. "We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish, swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

"What?" Harry sputtered. "So this is real, and you _knew_?"

"Knew!" Petunia shrieked. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were _proud_ of having a _witch_ in the family!" She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as… as… _abnormal_… and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and _we_ got landed with _you_!"

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

The professor stepped back, eyes wide, as Vernon stepped forward and grabbed Harry's arm roughly, causing him to cry out in pain. "You're going back into your cupboard," he snarled. "And _you!_" he roared, turning on Professor Flitwick. "Get out of our house!"

Harry tried futilely to escape Vernon's grasp, but it was no use. He was in for it now; it looked like Vernon might bring in the belt again, which he hadn't done for years, but instead he just dropped Harry into the cupboard. "Let – me – _go!_" he shouted, struggling, but Vernon just smacked him, hard enough to make his ears ring.

A moment later, there was a bang and a flash of light, and Vernon went flying away from Harry. Harry scrambled to his feet to see Professor Flitwick, now standing in between him and his relatives, holding out a long thin rod of wood. His eyes smoldered with anger. "What's all this?" he demanded. "Do you regularly grab your nephew so hard it hurts? Do you normally strike him? I don't want to interfere with family life, but this is too much!"

Vernon tried to step forward, making as though to punch the professor, but seemed to press up against an invisible barrier. He was clearly beyond words, and just gave a snarl.

Flitwick snorted angrily and slipped the stick – no, the wand – inside his robes, turning and striding off past Harry. "Come with me, Mr. Potter," he called, and began muttering under his breath. "I'll have to speak to the Headmaster about this. Really, it's a disgrace… Harry Potter with these lunatics…"

Harry stared at his aunt and his uncle, pressed up against an invisible barrier, which hadn't moved or gone away with Professor Flitwick. He stepped forward and reached out, wondering if he would be able to feel it as well, but the barrier seemed to slide away as he stepped forward, and now pressed Vernon and Petunia back into the kitchen, where Dudley watched with horror.

"Come along, Mr. Potter!"

Harry ran after Professor Flitwick, who was walking to the end of the street. "Professor!" he called. "Where are we going?"

Flitwick stopped at the corner, waiting for him. "I will be taking you to Diagon Alley, to purchase your school supplies," he said, and held out a hand. "Come, take my hand."

Harry took it and opened his mouth to ask about the money, but before he could, Flitwick began to turn on the spot, and a moment later the question fled from his mind.

_CRACK!_


	2. Chapter 2: Shopping in the Alley

_Flitwick stopped at the corner, waiting for him. "I will be taking you to Diagon Alley, to purchase your school supplies," he said, and held out a hand. "Come, take my hand."_

_Harry took it and opened his mouth to ask about the money, but before he could, Flitwick began to turn on the spot, and a moment later the question fled from his mind._

CRACK!

* * *

Harry yelped as the world shattered and fell away from him and the Professor, leaving them suspended in darkness. Something pressed in around Harry from every angle, as though he was being forcibly squeezed through a tight rubber hose, and all warmth fled from his body. The only thing that kept Harry from going mad, he thought, was the sensation of Professor Flitwick's warm hand on his, the only remnant of the normal world. The darkness closed in oppressively as time dilated, and Harry soon became used to the crushing cold and became bored. After what seemed like years…

_CRACK!_

The darkness shattered just as the world had, and fell away to reveal another place entirely. The sensation of slowed time fled, leaving Harry feeling as though he had only just been on Privet Drive, less than a second ago.

"That was," he said, as calmly as he could (although his voice shook), "very unpleasant."

The professor let go of his hand and peered into his eyes. "I'm very sorry," he said, an edge of anger from the Dursleys still in his voice. "I forgot to warn you. How do you feel? Any shivers? Cold feelings in the small of your back? Any unusual aches and pains?"

Harry considered himself. He was slightly cold, but then the Dursley's home was heated all year round. There was a dull pain in his arm where Vernon had grabbed him, which was probably already bruising, but that was normal, and the twinging from his left knee, which had once been dislocated by Dudley (the Dursley's hadn't taken to the hospital, so it was still untreated) had started up again. He shook his head; nothing unusual.

Flitwick looked him over and frowned. "I'll do a full diagnostic once we get into the alley," he muttered, then pointed across the street from the alley they were in. "Do you see that building, Mr. Potter?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry read from the sign. It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Professor Flitwick hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and the Professor could see it. Before he could mention this, he had been steered inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Professor Flitwick; they smiled at him or nodded respectfully. The bartender reached for a glass, saying "The usual, Filius?"

"I can't, Tom, I'm showing a muggle-raised student around," said Professor Flitwick, nodding to Harry. "Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this - can this be -?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. "Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honor." He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. A moment later, Professor Flitwick whipped out his wand and cracked it over his head, causing a feeling like cold water to run down Harry's back. For a moment it seemed that his ears were clogged with cotton, for he couldn't hear anything of what the professor was saying to the people who all seemed to want to rush in to meet him, but he managed to catch the last part. "…want to overwhelm him, after all. I should've told him about it before taking him here, but it slipped my mind…"

"What slipped your mind, Professor?" Harry asked, smacking himself on the side of the head to try and dislodge whatever was there.

Professor Flitwick turned back to him and smiled a little nervously. "Let's get somewhere private to talk about it, shall we?"

Harry followed the professor to the back of the pub and through a brick wall that opened with a tap of Flitwick's wand, past several brightly colored and _loud_ shops, and into a little side alley. The tiny man flicked his wand and a shimmering veil of mist appeared in between them and the main street of Diagon Alley, cutting off all sounds.

"Now then," he said, turning back to Harry. "I understand that you don't know much about our world. But know this; there was a war, just a little under ten years ago…"

Harry listened carefully as Professor Flitwick described the horrible happenings in the war. Nearly half of the British wizarding world had been killed, nearly everyone who tried to fight back was killed or tortured into insanity, and the Ministry of Magic nearly crumbled. All on the word of a single wizard and his followers, the Death Eaters and their leader (and despite the mists Professor Flitwick still dropped his voice low to say the name), _Voldemort_.

"What happened to him?" Harry asked. "I mean, obviously the war is over…"

Professor Flitwick looked very uncomfortable. "It's a long story, I think, and no-one really knows what happened that night," he said quickly. "You-Know-Who went after your parents, and killed them both. It was terrible, from what the Auror's were able to discern. Your father fought bravely, but was slain, and then he turned to your mother… he killed her quickly, without a battle of any sort, as far as is known, and then he turned his wand on you.

"But even though he cast the spell at you - the most deadly spell ever devised, one which kills anything that lives with a single touch - it didn't work. And when he tried to kill you and failed, the curse… well, it rebounded on him, and struck him instead. Some say he died. Rubbish, I think. I doubt he was still human enough to die. Some say he's still out there, just going after a different part of the world, Australia or Japan, perhaps. Most of us believe that he's still out there somewhere, but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. Because something about you finished him, Harry. Something happened that night that he hadn't considered; I don't know what, no one does - but something about you finished him."

Harry looked down at his feet. It was all just too much. Magic, leaving the Dursleys, and now he was some sort of hero? For something that happened when he was _one_?

Professor Flitwick laid a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry flinched away from it. "Haven't you ever wondered where you got that scar on your forehead?" he asked quietly. "Why it never healed? That's a curse scar, Harry, the kind you get when strong Dark magic touches you. Harry, I know you find it hard to believe, but it's the truth."

Harry looked up a little bit, meeting Flitwick's kind brown eyes. "Can we… can we go get my school supplies now? With something so that people won't recognize me?"

The professor waved his wand and banished the shimmering mists. "Already done, Mr. Potter, back in the pub when I cracked you on the head," he squeaked, suddenly cheerful again. "You're now blonde with no scar, and will be for several hours. Come on, let's start with Gringotts."

* * *

Gringotts was quite fun; the goblins were cordial to Harry and very nearly warm to the professor, and the rollercoaster-like car was the best thing Harry had ever done. He had never been allowed to ride coasters with the Dursleys, having always been left behind with Mrs. Figg when they went to amusement parks. The closest he ever came was the time when he was seven that Mrs. Figg's hip was being replaced, so the Dursleys left him in the food court area (with no money for food, naturally) for the whole day. The delicious smells of fries and ice cream tantalized him while he was unable to eat for nine hours, until they finally brought him back to the house and gave him a single slice of plain bread.

But he banished this memory from his mind and just enjoyed the ride. As he whooped with joy, Professor Flitwick spoke to their goblin attendant, something about a 'you-know-what' in vault seven-hundred-something that was going to be picked up later that day. Harry found it rather boring in comparison to the feeling of air rushing along his face and the incredible speed, especially when the cart turned nearly right angles, sending Harry, laughing, into one side. Oddly enough, during these turns both the goblin and Professor Flitwick remained exactly in their seats, apparently not at all affected by the whiplash.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late; they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and the floor. "I never know," Harry called to Professor Flitwick over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite has a 'g' in it, like 'ground,'" Professor Flitwick told him. "And stalactite has a 'c' like 'ceiling.'" He then returned to his conversation with the goblin.

Eventually, they reached a small door with an ornate red 'P' on it, and the goblin unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins, columns of silver, heaps of little bronze bits.

"All yours," smiled Professor Flitwick.

All Harry's - it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all this time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London. Flitwick helped Harry pile some of it into a bag. "The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle; it's easy enough. Let's see, that's thirty galleons; should be more than enough."

"How much is in here?" Harry asked, still amazed.

Flitwick took a quick glance around the room. "I'd say about 6,500 Galleons," he estimated. "Maybe closer to 6,400. Of course, this is just your trust vault; the Potter family vault proper would be significantly larger."

"What's that in pounds?"

"I think that 1 galleon is equivalent to 100 muggle pounds," Flitwick said as they stepped outside. "Is that right, Griphook?"

The goblin shrugged. "I pay little attention to the affairs of muggles," he said shortly. "But yes, I believe that is correct."

Harry's jaw dropped. 640,000 pounds! That would, he guessed, easily carry him through all of school and well into adulthood in the muggle world.

Harry barely noticed the return trip, still at the same incredible speed, and followed Professor Flitwick outside in a near-trance. He was only shaken out of it when the professor was greeted by a man as large as he was small.

The big man was at least twice Harry's height, probably more, and nearly as wide. His black hair melded seamlessly into his beard, and both stretched out along the huge, tattered coat. Something looked to be actually _living_ in his beard, and there were definitely several somethings moving inside the great coat.

"Morning, Professor!" the enormous person said in a surprisingly precise (but very loud) voice. He had no trace of any accent, British or otherwise.

"Good morning, Hagrid," Flitwick smiled up at the huge man. "What're you here for?"

"The you-know-what in vault you-know-which."

"Ah, yes, of course."

"And who's this young fellow?" Hagrid boomed, grinning broadly at the rather intimidated Harry.

"Hm? Oh, yes. A muggleborn student starting at Hogwarts this year," Professor Flitwick covered smoothly. "Harry Dresden, is that right?"

Harry blinked. "Hm? Oh, yeah, that's me."

"I've just taken some money for him out of the Hogwarts vault," Flitwick continued. "I'm sure we shouldn't hold you up, though, Hagrid. I'll see you back at the school, yes?"

"Of course, Professor," Hagrid agreed. "I'll see you there too, Harry, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah."

Flitwick led Harry to a clothing store called Madam Malkin's, and waved him in on his own, saying, "I don't like having to lie to people, especially friends, like Hagrid. I'll just pop into the Leaky Cauldron for a moment for a pick-me-up while you get your robes fitted, yes? And I'll pick up parchment and quills for you as well." So Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, clear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here; another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books, and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley. "Brooms fly, right?" Harry asked, wondering if that bit of folklore was correct.

"Of course they do," the blonde boy drawled. "You're a muggleborn, aren't you?"

"Not really," Harry said. "My parents were killed by Vold – er, You-Know-Who, so I was raised by my muggle relatives. But my real parents were a witch and wizard."

"I see," said the boy, raising an eyebrow. "What's your name, anyway?"

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said casually. "How about you?"

But the other boy had fallen silent. "Are you really?" he asked, seeming to be somewhat short of breath.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, I'm the Minister of Magic. Yes, of course I'm Harry Potter! Trust me to know my own name."

"You don't have a scar," the boy said suspiciously, holding in a chuckle, or perhaps it was a derisive sneer.

"I'm under an illusion or something so I don't get mobbed," Harry stage-whispered. "Don't tell anyone!"

The other boy did chuckle this time. "Well, it's good to meet you, Potter. I'm Malfoy – Draco Malfoy. Since you were raised by muggles, you probably need a quick run-down on the world, don't you?"

Harry was somewhat surprised by Draco's abrupt change of subject, but then again, it was always good to learn more, especially about the world he planned to spend the rest of his life in. "Sure, that would be great!" he said.

Draco smiled, though it bore more than a passing resemblance to a sneer. Harry got the impression that the blonde didn't smile often. "Well, first of all, you need to understand the difference between purebloods, halfbloods, and muggleborns," he began. "Purebloods are wizards with no muggle blood, or at least not for a long ways back. Technically, you're pureblood if your ancestors are wizards for two generations back - parents and grandparents - but most purebloods have much finer ancestry that that. The Malfoy family, for example, goes back almost 700 years, wizards all."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "If your family is that old, they must be pretty rich, right?"

Draco grinned, a genuine smile. "Oh yes, almost as rich as yours, Potter."

Harry wondered idly how much money was in the family vault rather than his trust vault. "I think I can guess about muggleborns; they'd be wizards born to muggle parents."

"Of course," Draco agreed. "And then halfbloods are in between; you're a halfblood, because your mother's parents were muggles. If you marry a pureblood witch, though, your children would be purebloods again. Though most of us would still look down on them, because they do have muggle blood."

Harry thought about this for a moment. "Let me guess," he said dryly. "If you know how closely related to a muggle you are, you're too closely related?"

Draco actually laughed at this. Like the first smile, it seemed as though he rarely did it, but as though he really needed to. "An apt description! Yes, that's about it."

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, sorry to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the Draco.

"See you," Harry waved and went to go find Professor Flitwick.

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts, where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather, books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk, books full of peculiar symbols, and a few books with nothing in them at all. Flitwick had to levitate Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"I'm not saying that's not a good idea, but you're not allowed to use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said the professor. "And you couldn't work any of those curses yet anyway; you'll need a lot more study before you get to that level."

Flitwick wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It would react badly with many potions. There's a reason the standard cauldron is pewter."), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope, along with a little silver magnifying glass. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its weird smells. There were ingredients everywhere: barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; and bundles of feathers, stings of fangs and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Professor Flitwick asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients, Harry examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

* * *

**A/N: I chose the figure 640,000 pounds because it equals slightly over 1,000,000 US dollars. And I know that Hagrid has an accent in canon. There's a reason for his normal speaking here, even though it won't come up until (probably) the fourth book, maybe a bit earlier. Why Harry Dresden? Because.**


	3. Chapter 3: The Wand Chooses the Wizard

_Flitwick wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on the list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Professor Flitwick asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop)._

* * *

Outside the Apothecary, Flitwick checked Harry's list again. "Just your wand left – oh, and I haven't bought you a birthday present."

Harry felt himself go red. "You don't have to –"

"I know I don't have to. But you are an uncommonly mature young man, Harry. I wish you hadn't had to go through what caused it, but you have, however, much it was. I would wager that you've never received a proper birthday present, have you?" Flitwick observed Harry calmly, eyes seeming to bore right into Harry's mind.

"Well, not really…" Harry squirmed, uncomfortable with the subject.

Flitwick sighed. "I _really_ need to talk to Albus about them," he muttered. "Well, Harry, what shall I get you? I doubt that your relatives would allow you a pet. Something else, then. A book, perhaps? A spell book wouldn't do you much good yet, and storybooks don't quite seem the kind of thing you're interested in… hmm… I know!" Five minutes later, they walked out of Flourish and Blotts again, with Harry the proud owner of _Magical Abilities: Metamorph, Parseltongue, Aurumsight, and More_, a book on rare magical powers. Harry was quite intrigued by the descriptions of some of them (Thaumoception; the ability to sense your surroundings via currents of magic, for example), but Flitwick told him that most of these abilities, which were mainly hereditary, hadn't appeared in generations, and he was unlikely to have any. Harry couldn't stop stammering his thanks, even so.

"Don't mention it," said Professor Flitwick airily. "I don't expect you've had a lot of presents from the Dursleys. Just Ollivander's left now - only place for wands, Ollivander's, and you've got to have a wand." A magic wand... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Flitwick sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a load of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. A warm pressure, seemingly opposite to the cold darkness of Flitwick's teleportation thing, closed in around him as he entered. It felt rather like a pair of tight comfortable pajamas, although Harry had never felt the sensation before. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question, even though Harry was still blonde and lacked a scar. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power, and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where..." Ollivander touched the place where Harry's lightning scar would be with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen inches exactly. Elder. A powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted the professor. "Filius! Filius Flitwick! How nice to see you again... spruce, fourteen inches, rather whippy, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, it is," said Flitwick, drawing the wand and holding it up to the old man's inspection.

"Holding up quite well, I see, and quite happy where it is" said Mr. Ollivander, giving Flitwick a brilliant smile. "Well, now… Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, the heartstrings of dragons, the venom of many varieties of magical snake… we even use nundu bone, very difficult to come by. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no magical creatures are the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry arrubtly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, returning, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Ten and three quarters inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once. "Maple and demiguise hair. Nine inches. Quite whippy. Try -"

Harry tried - but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and occamy feather, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere… I wonder… unusual combination… holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." This wand let off a small spray of silver and blue sparks and was quite warm to the touch, but Ollivander tore it from his grasp and practically pranced away.

"What if there's no wand for me here?" Harry asked.

"I don't think that will happen, Mr. Potter, we're not _nearly_ through yet," said Mr. Ollivander, handing him yet another rod of wood. "Try this one, mahogany, fifteen inches with occamy venom. No? As I was saying, I would conduct an interview with you and craft you a wand to fit your personality. The method we're doing right now _usually_ works…" Ollivander was now somewhere far above Harry's head, still rummaging around. "But sometimes a customer is simply too difficult to match with the ones a wandmaker has in stock at the time. Here, try this one. Rowan with basilisk venom, twelve inches."

Harry took the wand, and felt a sudden heat in his fingers, along with an increase in the comfy pressure on his skin. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of gold and green sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Flitwick whooped and clapped as Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... " He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the vial of venom which resides in your wand is not the only stock from that particular snake. There is another vial; just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for _this_ wand, when its brother… why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen inches. Elder. A special session, as I told you of earlier. He brought the basilisk venom himself at the age of fifteen; the only venom I've seen for a long time... curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. He paid ten gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

As they began to walked back to the Cauldron to exit the Alley, Harry decided to bring up something else, to get rid of the worried look in Professor Flitwick's eyes, and asked him "Did you know my parents, sir?"

Flitwick sighed. "I did, Harry, but not well," he said, somewhat apologetically. "They were just students of mine; exceptional students, yes, but we didn't have a particularly close relationship. I can tell you that you look almost exactly like your father; except for the eyes. You have your mother's eyes."

Harry nearly choked up hearing that he looked just like his father. "Well… do you know who I can ask for more?"

Flitwick paused for a moment to open up the brick wall to the Cauldron. "Hmm… one of your professors, Severus Snape, was quite close to your mother, I understand. And I think that one of your father's friends, Remus Lupin, is around. You could send an owl to Lupin, and of course you can just ask Severus while he's in his office sometime after school begins."

Harry nodded, and took the offered hand a little tentatively. Before he could, though Flitwick raised it, smacking himself in the forehead. "Oh!" he cried. "I can tell you a little bit. The story's quite famous among the professor's nowadays; come on, let's sit down so I can tell you it."

They sat at a table and Flitwick smiled as he gazed off into the distance for a moment. "Your father always loved your mother," he said suddenly. "From the moment James saw her, he was smitten. All through his time at Hogwarts he never had a girlfriend, though he could have easily; nearly every girl there was smitten with him."

"But not Mum?" Harry guessed.

"No, not Lily. She considered him a braggart, an arrogant prankster who didn't care one whit about proper behavior." The professor laughed. "To be fair, she was right. I have no idea how many detentions James got, sometimes it seemed like every single night. For turning the house banners into real versions of the house mascots, for example; for letting loose bludgers in the corridors; for charming the blankets of Slytherin house to cling to the students misfortunate enough to snore; for making everyone in the whole school speak like medieval peasants, lords, or knights for a day."

Harry was somewhat alarmed at this; his father a troublemaker? But Flitwick seemed to notice this and made haste to reassure him. "Understand, James and his friends went to great lengths to ensure that no-one was _hurt_ by their pranks. When one of them got out of hand and nearly led to the death of another student, James himself saved his life. They merely wanted to make people laugh, and did so. Truthfully," he mused, "it was probably a good thing that we had them. The war was on in full at the time, and we all needed to be able to laugh, but there was precious little to laugh at. Ah well.

"So, James was smitten with Lily, but she saw right through him. For six years she resisted his advances, right up until… well, until the middle of James' sixth year. His parents, who were fighting against Voldemort, were killed."

Flitwick sighed. "It came a big shock to him, to be suddenly an orphan. He had no place to go, and no clue what to do. Lily was always soft-hearted, and offered for him to stay with her for the Easter break.

"Well, he did, and she brought him back to himself. He was never quite the same, though; he had the reality of the world forcibly impressed on him, and soon put an end to the pranks, saying that he didn't see the point. He tried to be a role model for everyone; 'What my parents were to me, I want to be to others,' I think I heard him say once. He succeeded; his considerable talents were turned towards others instead of mischief, and he did indeed become a role-model for many people.

"So he was made Head Boy in his seventh year, and Lily was of course Head Girl. She was, I think far more impressed with him now that his head had deflated. He had stopped asking her out every day, and seemed to have moved on from his crush on her. I think that she was somewhat disappointed, actually. After all, she had gotten used to it, for nearly six years, and he was no longer the sort of person she would reject out of hand. But he asked her out again, more seriously, for Valentine's day that year, and they were together from then on. Got married just a year or so out of school, and had you when they were only twenty, and then… and then…"

Flitwick sniffed, as Harry woke from his near trance. His father had turned around, it seemed, and became a far better person, and his mother fell in love with him for it… he fell out of this second reverie when Flitwick stood and held out his hand.

"Brace yourself, Harry," Professor Flitwick said sternly. "It will be easier this time, but it's always better to be prepared."

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath and grasping the hand, and…

_CRACK!_

* * *

_CRACK!_

Flitwick and Harry walked down to number four, a little unsteadily on Harry's part, and Flitwick opened the door with a wave of his hand after banishing the illusion over Harry.

"You!" cried Vernon from the stairs. "Why are _you_ back here?"

"I live here," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

Flitwick glared at Vernon. "What will you do once I leave?" he demanded, flicking his wand and making a glazed look come over the fat oaf's face.

"I going to throttle him until he passes out," Vernon said dreamily, "and then lock him in his cupboard for a week or so."

Flitwick was shocked, but seemed to set himself after a moment and asked, "What cupboard is this?"

Vernon reached over the railing over the stairs and pointed to the door to my cupboard. "He lives there," he said, still in that dreamy trance.

Flitwick was now radiating a clear aura of menace, despite his small stature, and stepped forward. "You will give your nephew a proper room," he ordered, "and feed him properly as well. Is that understood?"

"Yes…"

The professor flicked his wand again, dispelling the glazed look and leaving Vernon to collapse against the railing. "Harry," he said, turning to face the boy, "I'm going to leave the spell on you to keep them away. Do you think that they will be willing to transport you to King's Cross on the first?"

Harry made a face. "When they're also being forced to give me a room?" he asked. "Definitely not. Besides, I don't think they would be able to get in the car with that spell on."

Flitwick sighed. "All right then. I or another professor, will come to take you to King's Cross at, oh, ten thirty, half an hour before the train leaves. I'll show you to the platform and then let you ride the train and make friends. Alright?" Harry nodded, and Professor Flitwick smiled. "Good. Don't let them push you around, alright? They can't do anything to you, remember that." Flitwick stepped outside, and with a _CRACK! _he was gone.

Harry turned towards Vernon, struggling to stand, and took a cautious step forward. An invisible wall seemed to move with him, forcing Vernon up the stairs in a clearly unpleasant manner, considering the fat man's yelp of pain. Harry grinned.

**A/N: From Pottermore:**

_**Rowan wood has always been much-favoured for wands, because it is reputed to be more protective than any other, and in my experience renders all manner of defensive charms especially strong and difficult to break. It is commonly stated that no Dark witch or wizard ever owned a rowan wand, and I cannot recall a single instance where one of my own rowan wands has gone on to do evil in the world. Rowan is most happily placed with the clear-headed and the pure-hearted, but this reputation for virtue ought not to fool anyone - these wands are the equal of any, often the better, and frequently out-perform others in duels.**_

**And interesting tidbit from the section on elder:  
**

**_An additional fact that I have unearthed during my long years of study is that the owners of elder wands almost always feel a powerful affinity with those chosen by rowan._  
**


	4. Chapter 4: Platform 9 and 3 Quarters

The next few weeks were pretty much heaven for Harry. The Dursleys let him move into Dudley's second bedroom (yeah, Harry had been stuck with a cupboard while his lumbering cousin got _two_ rooms for himself), eat whatever he wanted, and didn't make him do any chores. Not that they didn't try, but whenever they got uppity he could just walk towards them and back them into a corner. When they had nowhere to go, the invisible wall made them – not flat, but it was clearly painful for them.

Harry didn't care. They had inflicted too much on him for their discomfort to matter. Harry was perfectly happy to force them to bend to his will. He just wished the invisible shield affected more than the Dursleys; Piers Polkiss and Dudley's other friends still were able to get close to him, as he discovered while taking a walk in the park instead of cooking for the Dursleys. He had to dodge Polkiss' swipe and flee through the thick trees, and resolved to restore his normal habits when he was near Dudley's gang; to keep an eye out for them, pay attention to the noises around him, and be ready to sprint at a moment's notice.

Harry's school books were fascinating, though, and he spent most of the month in his new room (with a real bed for once, rather than an old blanket on the floor), reading through them. The books he had grabbed on magical history were pretty interesting, as were the spell books. But what really excited him was the books on potions. _Modern Magical History_ had mentioned a ban on using magic out of school for minors, but potions didn't need magic to brew or to drink, so he could see the use for them already. One of the potions that they would be learning later on in the year, the Sensin Potion, basically swapped your senses with those of another animal whose hair you put in the mix as the last step. And one of the ingredients in the basic potions kit happened to be preserved hair of cat.

But Harry wasn't a fool; he would wait to brew it until he had actually had some practice. Besides, the potion took a week to brew, and he couldn't remain close to the potion for the whole time; Vernon would come in and pour it out the window. Oaf.

So when September 1st rolled around and Harry packed his bags, he was happier than he'd ever been. He was finally leaving Privet Drive, for most of the year, and he wouldn't have to deal with the Dursleys! He wouldn't have to listen to Vernon's thunderous snoring, or Dudley's complaining about the terrible food that Petunia was now forced to cook. _That's what happens when you force someone else to cook for five years._

At ten o'clock, Harry began dragging his (very heavy) luggage downstairs. Dudley stood at the bottom, watching and taking the occasional step back to not get hit by the wall.

"Is there a reason you're staring at me, Dudley?" Harry finally snapped, when he was about halfway down.

Dudley glanced around, making sure that Vernon and Petunia were out of hearing, before whispering "Why aren't you using… you know?"

Harry furrowed his brow for a moment before he figured it out. "I haven't learned how yet. That's why I'm going to Hogw–"

"Shh!" Dudley looked almost panicked. "You don't want them to hear!"

Harry nearly burst out laughing. "I don't have to worry about that anymore, remember?"

"You don't," Dudley whimpered, "but I do!"

Harry stopped and stared at him. "Dudley, what do you really think about this?" he finally asked. "Don't just parrot Vernon's 'it's unnatural' or Petunia's 'you're a freak like your mother!' What do _you_ think?"

Dudley inched closer, pressing his nose against the invisible wall, and whispered, so quietly that Harry could barely hear him, "It's weird, but I think it's cool."

Harry nearly fell down the stairs. It was a sentiment that he had never thought he would hear Dudley express: something that he couldn't do and Harry could wasn't stupid, it was actually _cool._ Maybe, he thought, Dudley wasn't so bad after all.

"Dudley…" Harry said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"…will you help me with this trunk? I can't get it down the stairs, it keeps getting stuck on the handrail." Harry retreated to allow Dudley access to his trunk. The elder boy crept up the stairs and tugged on the trunk for a moment. It remained stuck, but he gave a great heave and freed it. He smiled at Harry, who smiled back; and then Dudley tossed the trunk over the side of the stairs, allowing it to fall to the ground and spring open, sending Harry's school supplies all over.

"Dudley, you maniac!" Harry cried, rushing forward and causing Dudley to fall down the stairs. Ignoring the boy's cry of pain as he hit the ground, Harry stepped over him (the Dursley child made some very strangled noises as the bottom of the invisible wall crushed him for a moment) and snatched the now empty trunk. He examined it for a moment, rage still boiling within him, and saw that it had been bent out of shape; the edge came in and kept the top from shutting properly.

Harry's self-control snapped. He strode towards Dudley and stood over him, straddling his body. Dudley gurgled silently as his body was flattened against the floor; he was unable to breathe, and Harry didn't care. He deserved it. The fat oaf deserved to–

_CRACK!_

The door swung open and a rather severe looking woman with a tight bun of black hair and a set of long blue robes was revealed. She seemed to take in the situation with a single glance; broken luggage, Harry standing over Dudley; and her eyes flashed with anger. She brought out her wand and flicked it sharply five times. Harry was sent flying away from Dudley, the invisible wall collapsing as he did, and slammed into the real wall just after it was transformed into a large mattress, cushioning him, and Dudley began gasping for air. At the same time, the trunk rose into the air for a moment as the edge snapped out and the tears in the fabric repaired themselves, and all of Harry's school supplies flew back into it.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?" she demanded as she stepped into Number Four. Vernon, meanwhile, came barreling down the stairs, only avoiding crashing into the wall when the stern woman flapped her hand absently, and he bounced off of another mattress.

"Dudley broke my trunk–" Harry began.

"Harry attacked me for no reason–" Dudley said at the same time.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Vernon roared over them both.

"Silence!" the woman snapped, flicking her wand once again, and all noise stopped, though their mouths continued to move uselessly for a moment. "Potter, you begin first."

"I was trying to take my trunk downstairs, and Dudley tossed it over the railing!" Harry said quickly, before she renewed the silencing spell on him.

"Dursley, what's your side of the story?"

Both Vernon and Dudley tried to speak again, but Vernon was still silent. "I was helping Harry get his trunk downstairs, and accidently dropped it!" he claimed. "And then he jumped on me!"

She twisted her wand in a complex pattern, murmuring under her breathe as she did so, and ended by pointing it towards the stairs and slowly turning it counterclockwise in her fingers. While she did this, Vernon was silently ranting again, but she ignored him.

A soundless, colorless image appeared over the actual stairs; it showed Harry standing over Dudley just as he had been. It moved in reverse, showing Harry rushed backwards to his broken trunk, then up the stairs. Dudley flew up the stairs behind (in front of?) Harry, then grabbed the trunk as it repaired itself and floated up to his hands. Dudley grinned spitefully at Harry, then stuck the trunk into the handrail before backing down the stairs as Harry came down and tried to bring the luggage up the stairs.

The stern woman raised an eyebrow as the scene faded away. "Dursley, you will refrain from touching any of Potter's belongings if you wish to remain a human instead of an animal. Is that understood?" Dudley swallowed and nodded. "Potter, you will restrain your temper under the same condition. Understand?" Nod. "Good. Now, what is it, Mr. Dursley?" she turned to Vernon and gestured for him to speak.

Vernon took a deep breath; it seemed he had worn himself out shouting while he had been forcible silenced. "Get out of my _house! _And don't do any of that _unnatural_–"

"I do not intend to stay here for longer than necessary," she informed him sternly. "You will not see your nephew again for more than nine months, after which he will not be permitted to perform magic. _You_ _will_ be prepared to receive him _civilly_ and _graciously_ when he returns, and _I_ will be coming with him to ensure that you do. And," she added as an afterthought, "I advise you to encourage your son to lose weight, and lose some yourself as well. Come, Potter." And with that, she turned, blue robes sweeping behind her, and left the house.

Harry stared, and only managed to get moving again when Vernon lunged at him with murder in his eyes. He dove to the ground and scrambled out of the house, dragging his trunk with him, snatched up the severe-looking witch's hand, and

_CRACK!_

* * *

_CRACK!_

Harry stumbled away from the woman, nearly falling over as he leaned over and retched. She merely raised an eyebrow and waited for him to finish.

After a minute or so he stood straight again and turned to face her, a little red-faced. "Are you quite finished?" she inquired politely? Harry nodded, and she continued. "As we did not have time for proper introductions earlier, I am Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress. I do, of course, know who you are."

Harry nodded, then looked around. "Where are we?" he asked.

"We are in a small apparation point near King's Cross," the professor said, stepping out of the little box they had arrived in. Harry followed her, and found with surprise that they were in an alley, having stepped out of what appeared to be a brick wall. King's Cross was visible right across the street from them. "Follow me, please."

Harry followed her across the street, rolling his heavy trunk with some difficulty, then to a barrier in between platforms nine and ten. "Look at your ticket," she ordered him.

Harry pulled out his ticket from his pocket and looked at it. "Looks perfectly normal to me," he said. "Hogwarts Express… one ticket… eleven o'clock… Platform 9¾. Wait, Platform _what_?"

"9¾," Professor McGonagall confirmed. "Of course, there is no platform by that number in the Muggle section of King's Cross. The entrance is through the barrier here." And she stepped up to the barrier and walked right through the brick wall.

Harry stepped up the barrier in wonder and rapped on it with his fist. It seemed perfectly solid, albeit surprisingly warm, but McGonagall had clearly just walked right through it. He squinted, and the wall seemed to glow a little. He pushed against it, and his hand went through it. Harry gaped as he stepped all the way through.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people, and a sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

"You had best get on the train and find a compartment, Potter," Professor McGonagall told him sternly. "It will be leaving in a few minutes." Harry glanced up at a large clock hanging in midair; it was ten minutes to eleven. He rolled his trunk over to the train and climbed on.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd. "Give us a look, Lee, go on," someone shouted. The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an almost empty compartment near the end of the train, with just one rather round-faced boy inside, staring out the opposite window. He started to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps, but could hardly raise one end, and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot. Harry sighed. More trunk troubles.

"Want a hand?" It was a thin boy with bright red hair and freckles splattered across his face.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

Harry blinked for a moment, thinking that he was seeing double, before he realized that they were twins. After a minute or so, the round-faced boy in the compartment stopped staring out the window, noticing them, and came over to help. With their help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Harry. His hair fell in his eyes, but he ignored it. He didn't want to be mobbed when they found out he was Harry Potter.

"No problem," one of the twins said. "I'm Fred, and this is George."

"No, _I'm_ Fred, _you're_ George…"

"_Anyway,_" said the first twin with a playful glare at his brother, "what're your names?"

"Neville Longbottom," said the round-faced boy.

Harry opened his mouth, trying desperately to think of what to do, when to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum." With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.

Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired twins on the platform and hear what they were saying. It seemed that the twins had multiple siblings; he spotted an older brother with horn-rimmed glasses, though he disappeared into a bathroom, and both a younger brother and sister, who looked like they might be twins as well. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mom - geroff" He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins in a disgustingly cutesy voice.

"Shut up," said Ron, turning red.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding back into sight. He had changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it, right next to the red crest with a lion. "Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves -"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other. "Once -"

"Or twice -"

"A minute -"

"All summer -"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" asked one of the twins.

"Because he's a _prefect,_" said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, have a good term - send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins. "Now, you two - this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've - you've blown up a toilet or -"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron and Ginny."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"And we'll slaughter anyone who touches Gin," said one of the twins; was it George? The girl turned as red as her own twin, and a whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and they all clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye as the train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving. Harry watched red-haired mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going, but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.


	5. Chapter 5: The Hogwarts Express

_"Hurry up!" their mother said, and they all clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye as the train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving. Harry watched red-haired mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going, but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind._

* * *

"Ahem!"

Harry turned to face the round-faced boy he was sharing a compartment with. "Sorry," he said apologetically. "What was your name again? Neville?"

Neville nodded. "Neville Longbottom, and I'm going to be a first-year. I don't think that you introduced yourself, though."

"Sorry," Harry said again. "I didn't want to be mobbed. Harry Potter."

Neville gaped for a moment before he managed to shut his mouth. "Are you really?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not the Prime Minister," Harry joked, "so I must be Harry Potter." Neville continued staring for a minute or so before turning red and looking away.

The door to the compartment slid open and the younger pair of twins, Ron and Ginny, entered. "Hi," said Ginny. "is there anyone else sitting here? Everywhere else is full."

Neville and Harry shook their heads and helped the twins put their trunks away. "So," Harry said conversationally, "I met your brothers earlier. Does your family always have twins?"

Ron snorted. "No, Mum was surprised by Fred and George and when we turned up together sort of went 'all right, I'm done'. Did you meet Percy too?"

Harry nodded, and Ginny took up the thread of conversation. "He's not the oldest. We've got two even older brothers; not twins, but one was born early September and the other late June, so they both went to Hogwarts the same year."

Neville appeared to be nearly as impressed by this as by Harry. "Big family," he commented.

Ron shrugged. "What're your names, anyway? I'm Ron and this is my twin sister Ginny. She's a bookworm."

Ginny punched his arm playfully. "Better a bookworm than a Quidditch-obsessed sloth. But yeah, what're your names?"

"Neville Longbottom," Neville introduced himself. "And this is–"

"Harry," Harry interrupted. "Just Harry."

Ron cocked his head to the side, eyes scanning up and down Harry's body. After a moment, they seemed to latch onto his half-obscured scar, and his eyes narrowed. "Harry Potter, you mean."

Harry flushed red at exactly the same time as Ginny, who squeaked and turned away. "Yeah, but I'm just Harry, really. I'm not some big hero."

Ron nodded. "That's what Dad always says whenever people start to go on about you. He says that it was probably chance and you deserve the chance to be normal. Was he right about where you grew up?"

Harry furrowed his brows. "Where does he think I grew up?"

Ginny, still looking away, spoke up again. "Dad thinks that you grew up with your Mum's parents."

Harry shook his head. "As far as I know, Mum's parents are dead. I grew up with her sister's family."

Ron nodded, still observing him coolly. After a moment, he seemed to realize that he should change the subject. "So obviously we all have the same school supplies, but did anyone bring anything extra?"

Neville grinned broadly, reaching into his pocket, and brought out a small, reddish-brown puppy. It lazily opened its eyes, glancing around the room, before curling up back into sleep. Its most distinctive feature was that it had two heads. "This is Kamno. Mum bought him for me when I got my Hogwarts letter," he said proudly, scratching it at the base of its necks. "I never did accidental magic, you see, so she was relieved when I got in. Gran wanted to get me a toad, but Mum was afraid it would try to run away from me."

Ginny, who seemed to be fine now, bent to rub Kamno's heads, but retreated when the little beast growled in his sleep. "Cute. Aren't orthrusi very rare, though?"

Neville nodded as Harry asked "Orthrusi?"

"The plural of orthrus," Ginny told him. "Named after the first two-headed dog, Orthrus, from Greek mythology."

"Oh." Harry fell silent for a moment. "Wasn't that Cerberus, though?"

Ginny shook her head. "Cerberus guarded the gates to the Underworld and had three heads. Orthrus had two, and herded the sun cows for Geryon, the giant with three bodies."

"Didn't the sun cows belong to what's-his-name, the sun god?"

"Apollo? Yeah, they do, but even a god can't do everything."

Ron smirked. "Ginny loves that stuff. She's a master at magical creatures and old myths."

"Whereas Ron can name every single winner of the Quidditch World Cup in order," Ginny said dryly. "We agreed, Ron, you don't complain about my interests and I don't complain about yours."

"Who's complaining?" Ron asked with an eyebrow raised. "I was just pointing it out."

"I got a book about magical abilities," Harry said, trying to get them back on topic. "How about you two?"

Ginny seemed to be struggling as Ron pulled a fat grey rat out of his pocket. "His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up," Ron complained. "_Percy_ got an owl for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff - I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window. Ginny sighed. "Dad could easily do whatever he wants in the Ministry," she told Harry, "but he likes to work in the Department for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. It has an incredibly tiny budget, so we don't have much money for extra things. We get along, but…"

Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he'd never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told them so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

"... and until Professor Flitwick told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort." Neville gasped. "What?" said Harry.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said the blonde boy, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people -"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Harry, "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn... I bet," he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be." Ginny assured him. "There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past. Before long, a middle-aged witch came by with a tray of sweets, and Harry bought some for everyone. They had lots of fun eating them, and Neville, Ron, and Ginny happily dazzled Harry by showing him all of the wizarding treats, like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and Chocolate Frogs. When Harry discovered that the Frogs came with collectible cards (who's Albus Dumbledore?) he was quickly foisted with doubles from his new friends' collections.

After a while, Ron and Ginny started telling Neville and Harry what they had heard about Hogwarts from their older brothers. Harry was fascinated by the idea of the Houses, and Neville, who already knew about them, declared that he wanted to be in Hufflepuff like his mum. Ginny sighed, saying that she was probably going to be in Ravenclaw, as Ron began to look sad.

"What's wrong, Ron?" Neville asked.

"All of my brothers were in Gryffindor," he said gloomily. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be _too_ bad, but imagine if they put me in _Slytherin_."

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?" said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Egypt curse-breaking for Gringotts," said Ginny. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles - someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Harry stared. "Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You- Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er - I don't know any," Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world -" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money, while Ginny and Neville began to doze off. He was just taking Harry through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open.

Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once; it was the pale boy from the robe shop, Draco. "Hallo, Draco," Harry said brightly.

"Hey Harry," he said. "This is Crabbe and Goyle." The boy gestured to the tree trunks – to the boys, Harry mentally corrected himself – on either side of him. Draco glared at Ron and Ginny. "No need to ask who _you _two are, though. My father told me that all the Weasley's have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." The twins both turned as red as their hair and seemed to lose their voices.

"Please don't insult my friends, Draco," Harry requested. "After all, I'm not insulting your friends, and I can think of some choice ones."

"I don't see any reason not to," Neville said lazily. "Let's see… ignorant tree trunks, heads full of rocks, couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel…"

"Yeah," said Ron, still red, "now go away, _Malfoy_."

"I'm not going to force him to leave, Ron," Harry said.

"WHAT?" Ron blurted, as Draco watched with amusement. "Don't you know who this _is?"_

"Yes Ron," Harry said dryly. "In case you didn't notice, I called him by his name without being introduced."

Ginny sighed. "We're going to have to deal with him for the next seven years, Ron," she pointed out. "There's no point in _trying_ to get into a fight. Even if we _do_ have a blood feud with him."

Malfoy reentered the conversation. "As fascinating as this may be, Weasley," he drawled, "I need to speak to Lord Potter." He stepped outside, clearly expecting Harry to follow. After he did, Draco continued. "You'll soon find out that some families are much better than others. I can help you there." He held out his hand to shake Harry's.

Harry considered this quickly. He didn't want to alienate Ron, who seemed like a decent fellow, and if he took Draco's offer than he would almost certainly lose the possibility of Ron's friendship. But he also wanted to be friends with Draco, and rejecting the offer would also be unwise. Draco did seem to be a bit more mature than Ron, though; maybe he would take it better? No, on reflection, the best choice would be some sort of middle ground. If only there was one… ah!

"Don't take this the wrong way, Draco," Harry said politely, "but I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself. I wouldn't say no to some lessons on the noble houses, though; you know, the whole Lord thing and that stuff."

Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll see you at school and we can work out a time for me to tell you about that then, okay?" Harry nodded, and Draco turned to go.

"How can you stand that git!" Ron complained the moment the door closes. He had clearly heard everything.

"I don't know which house I'll be in yet and I'm rather _not _be mortal enemies with someone I'll be sleeping in the same room as for seven years, like Ginny said," Harry said reasonably. "Besides, it's always better to be polite."

"I suppose," Ron said uncertainly. "But be warned that there's no hope for me being friends with a _Malfoy_, our families have a blood feud with each other." Ginny nodded in agreement.

Before Harry could respond, though, a voice echoed through the train. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

"We'd better get changed!" Ginny cried, leaping to her feet. "I'll step outside and see if the girls in the compartment next door mind me changing in there."

Neville looked at her oddly as he opened his trunk and pulled out a set of robes. "Ginny, the uniform is a set of _robes._ We can just pull them on over our normal clothes."

Ginny colored bright red and began to copy Neville. Harry tried to do the same, but couldn't work out the relatively complicated clothes.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Ron said, already finished. "Come over here, Harry, let me see what the problem is." Ron glanced up and down Harry for a moment, then said "You've got the lower layer caught on one of the buttons."

Harry snatched it up and unsnagged it, finally settling the robes properly. "Thanks," he said, blushing a little.

Ron shrugged. "Don't mention it. Really, don't. Ever."

The train slowed to a stop as Harry zipped his trunk closed once more. When they stepped outside of the train, Harry glanced around and saw the castle. It was… perfect. That was the only word, Harry thought, that he would ever be able to use to describe the wondrous castle; the architecture, the stonework, the warm pressure, greater than in Ollivander's shop, that he felt all over him; it all seemed to cry out to him, _welcome home._ Harry knew, looking upon the great school of magic, that this was where he wanted to spend his life. It–

"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"

**A/N: A thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers and to milamber83, who reminded me that Harry doesn't have Hedwig in chapter four; that's fixed now.**


	6. Chapter 6: The Sorting Hat

_The train slowed to a stop as Harry zipped his trunk closed once more. When they stepped outside of the train, Harry glanced around and saw the castle. It was… perfect. That was the only word, Harry thought, that he would ever be able to use to describe the wondrous castle; the architecture, the stonework, the warm pressure, greater than in Ollivander's shop, that he felt all over him; it all seemed to cry out to him, welcome home. Harry knew, looking upon the great school of magic, that this was where he wanted to spend his life. It–_

_"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"_

* * *

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed cheerfully over the sea of heads. "C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville sneezed once or twice, and a bushy-haired brunette was muttering to herself excitedly. Above them all loomed the castle, windows sparkling in the starry sky.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore of a great black lake. Harry picked out a boat to share with Neville, Ron, and Ginny. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat all to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!" And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass.

About halfway across, bubbles began to rise in front of the fleet, which slowed to a stop, and a moment later a huge dark beast surfaced. It was hard to make out details, but its eyes were the size of dinner plates, and it seemed to have long tentacles, which were cradling the boats gently. Harry and the rest of his boat stared at it silently; someone screamed behind them. After a minute or two, the giant squid sunk under the water once again.

Everyone was silent as they began to move again, either staring up at the great castle overhead or down into the water. "Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff under the castle; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door. "Everyone here?" called Hagrid. "Lesse… nah, don't look like we're missin' anyone." Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once, revealing the stern witch who had brought Harry to King's Cross, Professor McGonagall. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said calmly, looking over the group, "I will take them from here." She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was so high it was shrouded in darkness, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

The first-years followed the professor across the stone floor, and Harry nearly dozed off to the sound of other kids murmuring among themselves. Before long, though, Professor McGonagall swung open another door, and revealed what had to be the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry scanned the teachers sitting at the High Table.

In the middle sat Dumbledore, who he recognized from the chocolate frog card, and Hagrid had already entered and was drinking deeply from his goblet, twice the size of a normal one. Professor Flitwick waved cheerfully to Harry before drinking from his own goblet, which seemed comically large. Next to Flitwick was a man with reddish skin who wore a dark blue hooded cloak. "I think that's Professor Adams," whispered the brunette from right next to Harry, startling him. "He was an Auror for twenty years before he disappeared last year to take a vacation.

Harry shrugged and looked up at the Head Table again. Professor Adams was talking to a man who, with his long black hair, hooked nose, and pale skin, was surely Professor Snape… Snape looked past Adams straight into Harry's eyes, and his lip began to curl. Harry smiled widely at the man who he hoped would tell him about his mother, and the professor's eyes widened. Harry wondered why, vaguely, but then his gaze was drawn to the hat Professor McGonagall placed on a four-legged stool in front of the first years. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty, and Petunia definitely would never have let it in the house.

Harry watched in amazement as the Hat opened a rip near the rim like a mouth and began to sing. He clapped with the rest of Hall after it finished its song, wondering which House he would be put in. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy,that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Hannah went to Hufflepuff, along with Susan Bones, but Terry Boot became the first new Ravenclaw. Before long, Harry mostly tuned out the Sorting, worried about his own, at least until the brunette ran up. Apparently her name was Hermione Granger, and she ran up to the Hat and rammed it on her head.

After a few minutes, during which Hermione was whispering furiously, apparently arguing with the Hat or something, the hall began to fill with murmuring. Harry leaned over to Neville and whispered "what are they talking about?"

Neville leaned back and whispered "something about her taking a long time to be Sorted. It's rare for it to take this long, anyway."

After another minute or two, the hat shouted, rather triumphantly, "RAVENCLAW!" and Hermione headed off to the appropriate table. Harry saw Professor McGonagall shoot Flitwick a slightly smug look before she called the next name on the list. It wasn't long before she called Neville up to take his place on the seat.

The Hat took some time with Neville as well, but ended up called "GRYFFINDOR" after only two minutes or so. Harry took interest once again when Draco was called; the Hat was barely on his head for a moment before it shouted "SLYTHERIN!"

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and then, at last - "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Quite a good mind, too. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... so where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Gryffindor, I guess. Neville seems like a good bloke. Besides, Ron mentioned that all Weasleys go to Gryffindor, so I'll have Ron and Ginny there too._

"Gryffindor?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness more than Gryffindor, no doubt about that - no? Well, if you're sure – I'll send you on to GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" and Flitwick cheered along with everyone else. Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

And now there were just five people to be Sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table, then "Lisa, Turpin" was sent to Ravenclaw. Then Ginny stepped on to the Hat, and a minute or two later had been sent, to Ron's great surprise, to Ravenclaw. She sat next to Hermione and began talking with her quietly for a moment before watching Ron's Sorting.

Ron looked pale green now, but resolutely climbed the steps to sit under the Hat. Only a few seconds after putting it on his head, though, he came to join Harry at Gryffindor.

"Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin, and then the Sorting was over. Harry listen to Dumbledore's short speech ("Boffo! Bumble! Bib! Blockhead!"), and before long the food appeared and he began to eat. As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk around the table turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus Finnegan. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him." The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron. "Come one, all we know is the little mongrel."

"Mongrel?" asked Lavender Brown, and soon cooed at Kamno when Neville showed him off.

"Well, my mum and my gran brought me up and they're witches," said Neville, letting Lavender take Kamno from him, "but th family thought I was a squib for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me; Mum had to stop him from tossing me off the edge of Blackpool pier once; but nothing ever happened. I got a letter from Hogwarts though, as I'm sure you can guess. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. You should have seen their faces; they thought I might not have any magic, like I said. Gran wanted to buy me a toad, but Mum made her get me Kamno instead."

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahern - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact their Head of House.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did. "He can't be serious, right?" he muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told the prefects, at least."

"The head boy and girl probably know," the other Gryffindor Prefect, a tall blonde girl, called from farther down the table.

"I suppose," said Percy, still frowning.

"And now, to bed with all of us!" called the Headmaster.

The Gryffindor first years followed Professor Flitwick, through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead, he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that three Flitwick led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as the professor took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him. "Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist."

Professor Flitwick spoke, his voice high and flutelike. "Peeves, begone!" A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. "Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?" There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked, but there was no need to; Flitwick whipped out his wand and shouted _"Garluma!"_ Peeves' movement was suddenly reversed, and the poltergeist was sent flying through the halls head-over-tails, slamming into a wall and groggily floating away. Everyone in second year and above applauded, as the first-years stared in amazement.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't listen to prefects or even teachers. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress. "Good evening, Professor," she said. "Password?"

"Caput Draconis," said Professor Flitwick in a high, carrying voice that reached the mass of Gryffindors, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it - Neville needed a leg up - and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs and couches.

Percy pointed out two stairways at the back, telling Harry that the one on the right led to the male's dorms, but Professor Flitwick was saying something. "Muggleborn first-years, come over here please!" he called. "That includes you, Mr. Potter, as you were raised by Muggles."

Harry drifted over to where Flitwick stood, in the middle of a circle of armchairs and couches, and sat in one of the armchairs. There were only two muggleborns in first-year Gryffindor, it seemed. One of them was Dean Thomas, a burly black boy, and the other was a tiny little blonde girl whose name he couldn't remember.

"Now then," squeaked the professor. "My name is Filius Flitwick, and I am your head of house as well as the Charms Professor. Now, I know that you've had a certain amount of information given to you by the professors who came to meet you to take you to Diagon Alley. What do all of you know about our world?"

Everyone was silent, just looking at each other. "Come one," Flitwick said encouragingly, "surely there's something…"

Harry hesitantly raised his hand after a moment. "Um. Can you explain the Houses a little better? And exactly what is your job as head of house?"

"Certainly!" he squeaked. "You know from the Sorting Hat that Gryffindor is the house of the brave, Hufflepuff the loyal, Slytherin the cunning, and Ravenclaw the intelligent. Of course, there are other traits associated with these houses; chivalry and, I am ashamed to say, acting without thought, are also Gryffindor traits; Hufflepuffs are very fair and generous; Ravenclaws are usually curious and a bit eccentric, and Slytherins are ambitious and often rather underhanded.

"However, none of the Houses are fundamentally different. You will find good people and bad people in each; there are dull people in Ravenclaw and unsubtle people in Slytherin, Gryffindor has both the brave and the not-so-brave, and Hufflepuff has had its share of traitors. You may have heard rumors, furthermore, about the houses; that all Dark Wizards come from Slytherin, that Hufflepuffs are all mediocre, for example.

"None of these are true. I draw your attention to the infamous serial killer Sirius Black, servant of You-Know-Who and a Gryffindor, to my shame. The dark lord before him, Grindlewald, once visited Hogwarts and tried on the hat; he was placed into Ravenclaw! I doubt I need to list all of the Dark Wizards from houses other than Slytherin, as I'm sure you're all quite bright. But I urge you all to disregard these stereotypes!"

Professor Flitwick paused to breathe; he had been quite vehement by the end of his impromptu speech, and Harry got the impression that he had given it several times before. "I apologize, Mr. Potter, what was the second part of your question?"

"Oh, er… what do you do as head of house?"

Flitwick smiled benevolently. "I arrange your schedules, I control discipline in the house, I provide career counseling, and I favor you most unfairly during classes." He chuckled at the last one to show it was a joke. "I encourage your studies and try to get you to behave well, though not necessarily with success. And, as our government is heavily influenced by wealthy and bigoted purebloods," he said, frowning, "I am technically the legal guardian of all Gryffindor students who do not have a wizarding parent. This means that I am to act as a father or grandfather would to all of you; I do try to take an interest in each and every one of you, and you will receive small Christmas presents from me. Once you reach your third year, if your parent does allow you to visit Hogsmeade, I can give permission, assuming that there is no other reason for you not to visit."

Flitwick yawned. "But it's getting late. If any of you have any questions or concerns, any at _all_," and it seemed that his eyes rested longer on Harry than the other two as he looked between his first-year muggleborns, "come to me. I will _not_ laugh you off, I will _not_ ignore them, I _will_ take them seriously and look into them or answer them as best as I can. Now, to bed!"


	7. Chapter 7: Professor Snape

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-four staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Ron, and Neville managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Adams, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick. Neville swore that he would train Kamno to chase cats once he was large enough.

* * *

They had one additional day before classes in which to familiarize themselves with the castle. So the next day, after dinner, Harry went in search of Professor Snape. Ron warned him against it ("Fred told me, unless it was George, that Snape _hates_ all Gryffindors. We'll have to deal with him in class, but don't go _looking_ for him!"), but he waved it off. Harry hadn't learned the twisting shape of Hogwarts yet, but eventually, asking help from portraits, he found his way into the dungeons and to the professor's door.

It was made of some sort of smooth black wood, with the grain barely visible, and marked with a simple 'Snape', writing in silver letters. Harry hesitated for only a moment, admiring the lettering and wondering how it opened without a handle, before he knocked on it. There was a moment's pause, presumably while the professor wondered who was there, before a curt voice said "Enter," and the door swung open.

Professor Snape was sitting in wooden armchair, reading a book that appeared to be in Latin; Harry wondered what the title, _Omnem Effugiat Venena,_ meant. His eyes narrowed when he saw Harry in the door. "Potter," he snarled. "Why are you here?"

"Professor I… I heard that you were close to my mother," Harry said carefully. The professor was clearly in a bad mood, and he didn't want to make it any worse. "I'd like to know about her. Could you… could you tell me…" his throat seemed to block at the thought, that maybe, just maybe, he could know where he came from. Harry wanted to know about everything, though he tended to hide how much he did, since people were often put off by it. And now, with such a powerful subject, his voice failed him.

Snape's eyes softened slightly as Harry spoke. "Tell you about her?" he finished when it was clear that Harry was unable to, and the boy nodded. "Hm… very well.

"First, I should tell you that while I was Lily's friend, perhaps her best friend, for almost eight years, we had a great argument at the end of our fifth year, for which she never quite forgave me. We eventually reconciled; she wanted me to be your godfather, in fact; but I can't tell you much about her personal life after her fifth year. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded, and the professor seemed to notice that he still stood in the doorway. "Oh, sit down!" he snapped, waving his hand carelessly and conjuring another armchair which Harry sat it. "Now then…

"Your mother was remarkable in many ways. She was wonderful at potions, and one of the best at charms work I've ever met. I think that if she had lived, she could have surpassed even Professor Flitwick, who is currently the accepted authority on the subject…"

Harry had a lot to think about as he crept back to his dormitory two hours later, clutching the note Professor Snape had given him. His mother had been brilliant, it seemed, at nearly every subject. The only place she had real trouble with was Transfiguration, which worried him. But Mum had truly excelled at Charms and Potions, so much that she was considered a prodigy at both, even more so than Snape. The professor had mentioned that he was one of the three most prominent potions masters in the world at present; the other two were his own teacher, Professor Slughorn, and an Italian woman called Mistress Pozione. However, he claimed, Mum could have surpassed any of them.

Harry had decided that he had better put forth real effort into both of those subjects. When he had told Professor Snape this, just before leaving, he had been delighted, and given him several books on potions which weren't course books. _The Ingredients_ _Guide_ was the definitive work on the properties of various potions ingredients and how they interacted, while _Small but Important_ was a book Snape himself had written about how things like the direction of stirring and other such minor parts of potions were fundamental.

The professor had, however, been unable to help much with charms work, confessing that he had never been much better than average at it. Professor Flitwick, would surely be willing to help a member of his own house and especially Lily Evans' son, as she had been a favorite student. Harry would ask after his first Charms class the next day. As for his worries about Transfiguration, it turned out that his father had been excellent at it. Harry had, however, not failed to notice the hate behind Snape's eyes when he spoke of James Potter. He decided that Snape had probably been his dad's rival, and would therefore not be a good source of information for him. His argument with Mum had probably been over Dad, in fact.

He stifled a yawn, and froze as he saw Mrs. Norris staring at him. She whisked away a moment later, which meant that Filch couldn't be far behind. He had a note, of course, but that might not mean anything to the grouchy caretaker. Harry broke into a run, and just barely managed to step through the Fat Lady's portrait before he saw Filch through the portrait hole. He couldn't hold back a grin at the expression of rage on his face when the Fat Lady closed on the irate caretaker, and refused to let him in. Pleasant thoughts in his head, Harry began to compose a letter to the man mentioned by Professor Flitwick, Remus Lupin.

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_My name is Harry Potter. I have heard that you knew my parents, particularly my father. I hope that you will be willing to tell me about him; anything you wish to tell me, anything at all. Also, as I grew up with Muggles, any books you can recommend to me with things it would be useful to know, especially about Transfiguration. I'd also like to know more about my dad's other friends; are any of them still around, so I could write to them as well?_

_Harry Potter_

Harry held the letter up and eyed it critically. It would probably be all right, he decided eventually. Lupin wouldn't refuse it, he hoped. He would send it off from the Owlery sometime the next day.

* * *

Of course, the next day Harry was rather distracted by the classes. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout who was the head of Hufflepuff, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

One of the classes was surprisingly interesting: History. While Harry had liked reading about history in his textbook, he had expected the actual class to be just lecturing. However, the teacher, Professor Silas, had an enchant blackboard which could show pictures of whatever he desired. He told the class about the founding of Hogwarts, animating it on the blackboard, but didn't give any detail on what they Founders looked like, instead showing simple figures of the appropriate colors. Their homework was to find out, and use the simple illusion spell she showed them to present how they imagined the Founders to the class. Harry left feeling quite hopeful; he had mastered the spell quickly, trying to create the image of his parents.

Their first class with Professor Flitwick was also fun. He gave a lecture about why a charm was different than a transfiguration, a jinx, a hex, or a curse, but Harry had trouble following it. Nevertheless, at the end of class he showed them how to perform _lumos_¸ turning their wands into bright lights. "It's technically a second-year spell," he informed them after they had all mastered it. "The Ministry thinks that first-years need to master the basic wand movements before learning any spells. I think that really, the best way to learn is to do, and this is the best way to demonstrate the wind-up movement that's the basis of the spell. Besides, it's a wonderful confidence booster." Harry approached him after class to ask about good books on Charms, explaining that he wanted to live up to his mother's memory, and received enthusiastic recommendations for books called _The Art of Charming_ and _A Guide to Spell Interactions._

Professor McGonagall was again different. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.

After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione and Ginny had made any difference to their matches; Professor McGonagall showed the class how they had gone silvery and gave them both rare smiles.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Adams didn't disappoint. He taught them all the simplest hex that Harry had ever seen, _maharu._ It was just a twist and a point towards the target, and caused a not-very-painful jab.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Neville didn't have much of a head start. And thanks to Professor Flitwick's recommendations and, he suspected, his desire to live up to his Mum and Dad's legacies, he did quite well in Transfiguration and Charms.

Harry eventually managed to get up to the owlery after dinner Wednesday night. As he stepped into the chilly tower, avoiding the scattered piles of owl dung, he was immediately met by a handsome eagle owl. The owl was silver, but the tips of its feathers were golden, making it shine golden in the light.

"Hello," Harry said, reaching up to stroke its head. "Would you like to take a letter?" The owl nodded regally, and willingly took the letter he presented. "That goes to Remus Lupin. I don't know where he lives, but–" the eagle owl head-butted him, somehow telling him that he shouldn't doubt. Harry snorted. "All right, I won't question your skills." Harry watched as the silver-gold owl flew off, then began trudging the three floors down and four up to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Friday was an important day for Harry, Neville, and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once. Hermione and Ginny had of course gotten it by Wednesday, but Harry suspected that the route from Ravenclaw Tower was simpler.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Neville. "Snape's the Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them - we'll be able to see if it's true."

"I'm sure that's not true. He seemed okay when I talked to him on Monday, anyway. Still, I wish Flitwick favored us, " said Harry.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Harry hadn't gotten anything yet. The silver-gold eagle owl, who seemed to like him, occasionally flew in to nibble on his ear and steal bacon, but today flew right over Harry, dropping a note right into Harry's outstretched hand as he reached for a plate of pancakes. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Harry borrowed Neville's quill, scribbled 'Yes, please, see you later' on the back of the note, and called for an owl to come take it. Immediately the silver-gold owl arrived to take it. "Hold on," he said, catching it gently by the beak. "I still don't know your name."

Ron paused in his ravenous shoveling of food. "What're you about, Harry?"

"This owl seems to like me," he told Ron. "But I don't know what his name is. Do you have one?" he addressed to owl. It shrugged; wings were clearly pretty good for that. Harry pulled his face, trying to think of something.

"Hey, Ginny!" Harry called to the Ravenclaw table. Ginny and her friend Hermione looked over. "Can you think of a name for this owl?"

Ginny muttered with Hermione for a moment, then the brunette called back "How about Electrum?"

Harry glanced at Ron. "Electrum?"

"It's an alloy of silver and gold!" Ginny called. "Seems fitting, don't you think?"

Harry nodded. "What do you think?" he asked the owl. The newly dubbed Electrum nodded, then snatched up the note to Hagrid and carried it off.

"I think I'll ask Professor Flitwick how you go about buying a school owl," Harry mused. "Electrum seems like a good owl. I wonder why I haven't gotten a reply from Mr. Lupin yet, though."

"Did you tell him to wait for one?" asked Neville. "Owls won't normally. Wizarding eagle owls are very fast fliers; if Mr. Lupin only has a screech owl or a barn owl, for example, it would take a while to get a long distance."

Harry considered this. "How far can an eagle owl go in a day?" he asked. "Electrum left Wednesday night and came back Thursday night."

"I would guess all the way across the Atlantic, a fine specimen like that," said Percy, who was passing. "So your recipient could be just about anywhere."

Harry sighed. "Well, I guess I'll have to wait. So, where's Potions, Percy?"

* * *

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder there than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Do you suppose that you will do as well as your mother, Potter?"

Harry had read through most of both books Snape had recommended, as well as all of his textbook, and smiled. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'm quite confident." To his right, Ron flinched, but Snape just smiled coldly, and moved on.

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. "Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry strained to remember this. It was a draught, not a normal potions, he knew that. And it had something to do with death... or was it sleeping? Ah ha! "The draught of living death, sir," he said, and, remembering another tidbit from _Small but Important,_ added "but if you pour the infusion onto the asphodel rather than adding the asphodel to the infusion, then it'll be poisonous unless you add unicorn horn as well. That would make it basically colored water."

Snape nodded approvingly, and Ron looked flabbergasted. "Perhaps you might amount to something after all, Potter. Where would you look for a bezoar?"

Bezoars, those were stones that could serve as antidotes, right? But he couldn't remember where. "In the potions cupboard," he said cheekily, and most of the class chuckled, though they were silenced instantly by Snape's glare.

"If you did not have access to the school's supplies. _Or_ your own," he added as Harry opened his mouth to say his bag.

Harry thought about this for a moment longer, and remembered. "The stomach of a goat."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane; Weasley?" Harry had been about to answer that they were the same, but fell silent when Snape turned to the redhead.

Ron seemed aghast to be put on the spot. "Um, I, um…" he stammered, and Professor Snape sneered.

"Does anyone know the answer to Weasley's dilemma? Malfoy?"

Draco smiled widely. "Monkshood and Wolfsbane are the same plant, sir, and are also called aconite."

"Weasley, give your seat to Malfoy," Snape ordered. "I will not have the only two people in this class who might possibly be competent hampered by working with idiots. Malfoy, you and Potter will work together throughout the year. Weasley, you will work with Finnegan."

Things went badly for the rest of the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Draco and Harry, who he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt his cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. "Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Parvati Patil, who he had been working with. Then he rounded on Seamus Finnegan and Ron, who had been working next to them. "You – Weasley - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's a point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Draco kicked him behind their cauldron. "Don't," he muttered. "Snape is always in a bad mood right after someone messes up."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were bouncing. Snape seemed to like him; but he clearly hated the rest of the Gryffindors

"Don't worry about it," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

* * *

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang- back." Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "_Back_, Fang." He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spend half me time chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch 'that old git.' "An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her - Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape hardly liked anyone.

"But he seemed to really hate the rest of the Gryffindors, and not me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "No reason for it! There'd be more reason for him to hate you specifically; he never liked yer dad, you know." But Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot - great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date. "Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while Professor Flitwick and I were there!" There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had had something to do, the 'you-know-what' in vault 'you-know-which'. Had that been what the thieves were looking for? As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected the you-know-what just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

**A/N: Very long chapter today. We're reaching the point, though, where I can basically put up chapters from HtC with only minor edits. I should have them up every day or so now, until we reach the same cliffhanger as before. There are eight chapters after the equivalent point in HtC; I hope to have one up here every day, filling up the next week and a bit, and then a completely new chapter on Saturday 21st. **


	8. Chapter 8: Falling from a Broom

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy who acted like Dudley that he liked, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. It was amazing, really. Despite how much everyone else hated Draco, they had a quite civil relationship. Draco had told him about his views during potions class, and they all seemed repugnant; but the boy himself was quite charming. Some people complained about his attitude, but Draco never acted up in front of Harry; the worst he did was to ignore Ron entirely, which suited Ron fine.

One morning, Harry and Ron spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made Harry cheer and Ron groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday, Gryffindor and Slytherin together. Harry had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else, but was still worried. "Just what I always wanted," he lamented. "To make a fool of myself in front of the whole school. Draco will probably be ashamed of being my friend."

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably. "And he should be ashamed; of himself, for being who he is. Anyway, I know people always going on about how good they are at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy, at least, certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years not being allowed on the Quidditch teams and told long stories that always seemed to end with him flying at top speed away from exploding Muggle buildings. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnegan told it, he had spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Dean Thomas had had a big argument with Seamus over soccer; Seamus had said he couldn't see the excitement of having one ball and playing on the ground.

Neville dragged Hermione and Ginny from the Ravenclaw table over to ask them about it. It turned out that Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his Mum had never let him near one. Harry wondered why; Neville said that he was clumsy, but Harry hadn't seen him have any accidents. Well, not outside of Potions class, anyway. Hermione was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book - not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Hermione had been very sympathetic about. He supposed that Mr. Lupin might indeed in a different country, but he had hoped to hear back by now. After all, Electrum had taken him the letter in just a day.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his Mum. He opened it excitedly, but was somewhat disappointed by the contents. He showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. "It's a Remembrall," he explained. "Mum always worries about me forgetting stuff – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red you've forgotten something." He peered through the perfectly clear sphere and grinned. "Haven't forgotten anything right now, though."

Neville began passing Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any other teacher in the school, was there in a flash. "What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor." Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Don't do that, Draco," Harry said reproachfully, and Draco sighed before slouching away.

Shortly after that, Harry was delighted by the appearance of a rather ragged-looking barn owl, who was being supported by a larger, sturdier screech owl. The barn owl dropped a letter in front of Harry before flying, quite unsteadily, back up to the Owlery.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Thank you for writing to me. I wanted to contact you earlier, as I feel your parents would have wanted me to watch over you and guide you as you grew, but Dumbledore requested that I not, so that you might grow in a normal environment, not corrupted by your fame. _

_I have been in America for the past ten years, and so I apologize for the delay you likely had in receiving this letter. I would fill up several rolls of parchment describing your father to you, but I fear that my owl would savage me if I tried, and besides, I think there is a more expedient way. I can, now that you've contacted me, return to England. I will come to stay in Hogsmeade, where I can visit you and tell you all about him in person; unless you have any objection, of course, in which case I'll go with the several rolls of parchment. _

_As far as book recommendations go, I was never quite as good at your father at Transfiguration, and your mother of course outshone all of us at Charms. I wouldn't worry too much about them, and simply be confident in the talents you've probably inherited; however, if you insist, I recommend_ Free Transfiguration_ by Dumbledore himself and _The Book of the Animagi,_ which you might find interesting._

_Your father always had few close friends, but those he had were very close indeed. I consider myself privileged to have been one of them. His only other close friends were Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. I will save most of this subject for our meeting, if you do desire that; however, as I find the subject of Black a painful one, I will cover that now. He was a spy for Voldemort, his chief spy on our side, and yet he remained highly trusted by us. He was a consummate actor, so much that he was even made the only person to know your parents' location when they went into hiding with you, to escape Voldemort._

_(Do not mistake me; your parents were heroes, and would have gladly fought Voldemort to their deaths, but they were unwilling to risk you. When they heard that Voldemort was planning on coming for them, they decided to go into hiding to protect you.)_

_A mere three days after they disappeared, Voldemort came to your parents' hidden home, where only Black could've revealed them. There is a charm which hides things, which is too complicated to explain here; but suffice to say that without Black's help, Voldemort could have pressed his nose up against your window without seeing you and your parents._

_After Voldemort was vanquished, Black was revealed as a traitor. Peter went after him, out of his mind with grief, and was killed. Black blew Peter to bits, along with twelve Muggles. There were enough witnesses that he was sent to Azkaban, the wizarding prison, without trial. He has been there for nearly ten years now, and his sentence was for life._

_But enough of that. What do you think of the prospect of meeting me? And don't think that I just want to see James' and Lily's son; I want to know all about you._

_Remus Lupin_

Harry sat back, emotions whirling within him. He was obviously ecstatic about the idea of meeting with Lupin, and would send a letter telling him so. But something didn't seem quite right about the whole Black situation.

The facts seemed clear enough. Some secrecy charm had been cast, so only Black could reveal the location, but Black had been a traitor, and thus caused his parents death. But there was something about the story that didn't sit right with Harry. He couldn't tell if there was some inconsistency his mind had seized upon, or something else.

Not able to decide, Harry showed the letter to Ron. "Wow," he commented. "I never knew that about Black. I mean, I knew he hadn't gotten a trial, but I didn't know he was the one who let out your mum and dad's location."

However, Harry was no longer listening. Ron had inadvertently remarked upon what was bothering Harry. _Black hadn't gotten a trial._ Harry had a well-developed sense of justice, as a result of it being denied to him so much by the Dursleys, and had found out quite a bit about it in his muggle days. And one of the things he knew, with a solid, immutable, rock-hard certainty, was that everyone, _everyone_, had a right to a trial.

Now knowing his problem, Harry immediately scribbled down a quick response to Lupin.

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_I hope you can come here soon. I'm eager to meet you, and of course I'll tell you all about me._

_One thing bothers me, though. Why didn't Black get a trial? I mean, I know that there were witnesses and everything, but what if he had been under the Imperia curse, or whatever it's called, like Draco's (Draco Malfoy) dad was. At the very least, he should have been given a truth potion, to find out how much he had told the Death Eaters. I think that's a travesty of justice, and that we should raise up a stink about it until he gets one. Even just a dose of truth serum and a questioning would do._

_Harry_

He called for Electrum and sent it off with him, watching him fly with a wistful expression. The Dursleys would be happy to be rid of him, and he couldn't shake the idea that Remus Lupin would be happy to take him. Surely, his father's friend would rescue him. Right?

* * *

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Neville, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance. The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, touched down as they arrived, having flown in from the direction of the lake. She had short, gray hair, and bright yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. "Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!"'

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Seamus Finnegan's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground. Ron, however, had brought hisbrooms up slowly with their calls.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. "Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch when she was finished. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle… three… two…"

But Neville, rather nervous, jumped up before Hooch blew the whistle.. "Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle… ten feet… twenty feet... Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and…

_WHAM!_

Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight. Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, surprisingly calm despite his white face.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy - it's all right, up you get.".

She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, clutching his wrist, walked off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Lavander.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Brown."

"Look!" Draco said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's mum sent him." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Oh, shut it Draco," Harry said lazily. "Neville's a pureblood, remember? You're not supposed to have anything against him."

Draco's face flushed a delicate pink. "I wouldn't, but he's practically a squib," he said quickly. "A disgrace to the name of pureblood, if you ask me."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "He's not, really," he said. "I don't know what you've heard, but he only has a little trouble with the magic, and that's because he has someone else's wand. His great-uncle's, I think. I'm buying him a new one for Christmas."

"And how would you know that?" sneered another Slytherin girl, Millicent Bulstrode.

Harry threw up his hands. "We're in the same house, for God's - I mean, for Merlin's sake. I really don't know why you hang out with these people, Draco. Anyway, why don't you give the Remembrall to me or Ron? We'll return it."

Draco looked thoughtful. "How about a contest?" he said finally. "If I win, I keep it, and… oh, fine," he said, seeing the look on Harry's face. "If I win, I'll just tease him about it at dinner and give it back. If you win, Weasley can give it back, and just say that it fell from his pocket."

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What kind of contest did you have in mind?"

"A Seeking contest," Draco said flatly. "Someone impartial will drop it from, say, a hundred feet, and we'll both try to catch it, starting from the same place."

"And who here'll be impartial?" Ron demanded. "No one would back you over Harry unless they were a _Slytherin_."

Draco gave Ron a withering look. "Oh, look who it is. _For your information,_ Weasley, not all Slytherins are pals. Nott there hates me and Lord Potter both, he's the best we'll get." Theodore Nott looked annoyed at being singled out, but nodded his agreement.

"Hold on a second!" Dean Thomas shouted. "The Remembrall is made of glass! If neither of you gets it, it'll break!"

Nott sighed. "Thomas," he said testily, "what exactly can you do to make something unbreakable?"

Dean blinked. "Well, I guess you could use magic… oh." The Slytherins laughed, and so did everyone else after Dean grinned a little at his own foolishness.

Harry and Draco flew up with Nott, rising quickly through the air. In a rush of fierce joy Harry realized he'd found something he could do without being taught - this was _easy_, this was_ wonderful_. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron. He turned his broomstick sharply to face Draco in midair. He looked stunned, but then grinned.

"Maybe this won't be so easy after all, Potter!" Draco teased.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle straight down; next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the glittering ball; wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching; he stretched out his hand; a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall safely in his hand. He stood and tossed the Remembrall to Ron. Glancing around, Harry saw that Draco had not dived as fast as he, and was now hopping easily off his broom, an amazed look on his face. Ron was ecstatic, and -

"HARRY POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor Flitwick was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

"I… you… might have broken your back…" Professor Flitwick was trembling with anger, and the grass around his feet was flat for several feet.

"It wasn't his fault, Professor -"

"Be quiet, Miss Brown."

"But Malfoy -"

"That's _enough_, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now. Mr. Malfoy, rest assured that I _will_ be speaking to Professor Snape about this."

Harry caught sight of Draco's stricken face as he left, walking numbly in Professor Flitwick's wake as he strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Flitwick was scooting along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and Flitwick didn't say a word to him. He slammed open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind him. Maybe he was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, who Ron had said was expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Neville and the others becoming wizards, while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor Flitwick stopped outside a classroom. He flicked his hand, causing the door to swing open, and beckoned Harry inside. Harry sat on a wooden chair that appeared in front of the desk as Flitwick sat behind it.

Instead of expelling him, though, Flitwick just removed his small glasses and buffed them, sighing. "Harry," he said rather sadly, "I _know_ that Madam Hooch warned you all not to go flying. Why did you and Mr. Malfoy feel the need to go flying without any instruction?"

Harry blinked. "He had Neville's Remembrall, Professor," he said, looking down. "He challenged me to a contest to get it back without Neville finding out. And it's not like I didn't do fine, right?"

Professor Flitwick nodded. "That's true, you did do fine. It seems you are a natural on a broom; your father was the same way. I think we may have to see about bending the rules for first-years on the house teams. But you _will_ receive a punishment for this," he warned. "I think that ten points and a detention with Madam Hooch will do nicely."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Madam Hooch said that we would be expelled," he ventured cautiously.

Flitwick laughed. "No, students only get expelled for actual illegal doings," he told Harry. "It's only a threat. So, ten points, a detention, and…" he smiled. "Fifteen points for helping a fellow student."

* * *

Harry returned to the Great Hall for lunch several minutes later, and was waylaid by Draco.

"Harry!" said Draco, relief evident in his voice. "You're clearly not expelled, but… what happened?"

"Well," Harry drawled, "After he disemboweled me and put me back together like a jigsaw puzzle, Professor Flitwick took me to the astronomy tower and dropped me, turning me into a spider as he did. When I finally got the bottom, I was understandably traumatized, and I am _never _going on a broom again." At this, Draco stood there flabbergasted, until Ron, coming up behind Harry, could no longer hold in his laughter.

"The look on your face!" he said, gasping for breath. "Like a stunned ferret! Hahaha!"

Draco scowled. "No, what really happened?"

Harry chuckled. "I might be getting onto the Quidditch team." Draco's eyes widened, and Harry was forced to tell the whole story.

"How about you?" Harry asked when he was finished. "Has Professor Snape talked to you yet?"

Ron snorted. "Probably let him off scott free," he grumbled.

Draco shook his head. "He took ten points and gave me a detention with Madam Hooch."

"That's what I got!" Harry exclaimed. "I wonder when the detentions are..."


	9. Chapter 9: Noble Lessons

The night after the flying lesson, Harry was talking with his friends, having called Hermione and Ginny over from the Ravenclaw table for dinner. "So Flitwick talked to the Headmaster," he said happily, "and all I have to do is show him that I can fly a broom properly, then I'll be allowed to try out for the team. They need a new Seeker, you see…"

"So I've heard," Ginny agreed. "Will you be using one of the school's brooms or buying your own?"

"I plan to buy my own," Harry said. "I'm not sure which kind, though. Say, Ron, do you have a broom catalog I could take a look at?"

Ron nodded. "Back up in the dorm, I'll lend it to you after dinner," he said.

"Maybe you should wait until you actually know if you're on the team," Hermione interrupted.

Ron snorted. "There's no chance of that not happening. You didn't see him," he told the brunette. "He dove from nearly forty feet up all the way down to the ground; didn't pull up until he was inside five feet of the ground, _and_ he caught Neville's Remembrall, which is _maybe_ two inches across."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I think you're exaggerating, but if you say so. But Harry, do you even know how to play Quidditch?"

Harry chuckled. "That's right, you weren't there when Ron told me about Quidditch on the train. He was _very_ detailed; put Ginny and Nev right to sleep." Ron turned bright red. "But now that I think about it," he continued, "there are probably a lot of other things that I don't know about Wizarding culture. Draco's supposed to be telling me about the upper class culture, but we haven't gotten around to it yet. Ginny, do you think you could?"

The redhead shook her head. "I've always been more interested in history. Mum might be able to help, though. You could send Electrum to her about it," she suggested.

Ron appeared strangely quiet as Harry considered this. "Yeah, I think I will," he agreed after a moment. "He should be back by now; I'll send him after I've shown the Headmaster my broom-riding skills."

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

The Headmaster didn't seem to want much from Harry; he had to weave through the hoops, accelerate to top speed and then stop safely, and dive as close to the ground as he could before pulling up. After Harry finished the simple tasks, Dumbledore pronounced him fit to join the team.

"Wait, Headmaster!" Harry called as Dumbledore turned to leave.

"Yes, Harry?" asked the old white-bearded man.

"Is it possible to buy a school owl?"

Dumbledore furrowed his brow. "I believe it is, yes. Do you have one in mind?"

"There's an owl who seems to like me," Harry told the Headmaster. "I've named him Electrum; a silver owl with golden-tipped feathers."

Dumbledore frowned for a moment. "We don't have any silver-gold owls," he said slowly. "Just normal screech and horned owls. Unless… do you mean Tantalus?"

"Tantalus?"

"The Potter family's owl," Dumbledore said. "A silver owl with golden-tipped feathers, just as you described. A very fine specimen, as I recall. He has been hiding atop the Owlery, having come here shortly after your parents were killed by Voldemort."

Harry's brows shot up. "Ever since my parents were killed? How old is this owl?"

"Good magical owls can live for a very long time when they're cared for properly," Dumbledore told Harry. "I think that Tantalus is nearing his second century."

Harry considered this for a moment. "Electrum didn't exactly shake his head no when I asked if he had a name," he said slowly. "He just shrugged."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I think that your Electrum may in fact be the very same Potter family owl," he said with a smile. "Why don't we both go up to the Owlery and you can introduce us, hmm?"

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

Back at Gryffindor Tower, Harry told Ron that it turned out Electrum was indeed the Potter family owl, and sent the silver-gold bird off with a letter addressed to Mrs. Weasley. And a few days later at breakfast, Harry was startled by a large, ungainly, old grey owl, which fell from the sky and landed in between him and Ron.

"What's that?" asked Hermione, aghast. She and Ginny had been sitting with Harry and Ron for meals ever since the flying lesson. Harry had noticed, with some concern, that Hermione ate every meal with them at the Gryffindor table now. Ginny, on the other hand, continued to eat breakfast with her other friends in Ravenclaw, Terry Boot and Padma Patil. Harry had asked Hermione why she never ate with her fellow Ravenclaws, but she refused to answer. That worried him.

Harry was dragged back to the present by Ron's cry of "Errol!"

"He's our family owl," Ron explained, untying the letter attached to Errol's leg. "Older than me; he's older than Percy, I think. Hey; why is this addressed to you?"

Harry snatched the envelope from Ron. "Because it's from your mum to me, remember?" he said, ripping it open, while Ron and Neville helped Errol back into the air. "Let's see…"

_Dear Harry,_

_Of course, I'd be happy to tell you about Wizarding culture. I feel so bad for you that you weren't able to grow up with wizards like you should've. Now, as I'm sure you can tell, Errol is rather old, and I don't want to weigh him down too much, so I'll space it out among several shorter letters._

_So, let's start with the Trace. Basically, wizard children aren't allowed to cast magic out of school, so the government tracks the magic they cast with what's called the Trace. No one is sure if it's applied individually or if it's some mass spell, but the Ministry can detect any spell cast near underage wizards. They can't tell _who_ cast it, though, so it's basically useless for people in a wizarding household. They usually come to investigate if it's a muggleborn, but they have to rely on wizard parents to keep control of pureblood or halfblood children. Of course, I don't let my own children practice out of school, but if they did the Ministry wouldn't be able to tell._

_Then there's the whole pureblood philosophy. Essentially, it's the idea that Muggle blood dilutes wizard blood and makes people who're descended from Muggles less magically powerful. Proponents of the philosophy will only marry other purebloods; a pureblood being defined as someone with no muggles or squibs within two generations of them, so every one of a pureblood's grandparents are witches and wizards. You would be a halfblood, since your mother's parents were Muggles. The whole thing is completely false, of course, but it's very popular among a certain class of rich pureblood, like the Malfoys and the Blacks._

_Otherwise it's mostly just simple rules that are mostly common sense. Don't cast spells if you don't know what they do, don't try to invent new spells or potions if you're not a Master in the field, that sort of thing._

_I hope you're liking Hogwarts. Send me an owl back with any specific questions you have and tell me how your getting along. And make sure that Ron writes, will you?_

_Molly Weasley_

Harry grinned, tucking the letter into his bags. "What did it say?" asked Hermione.

"More the point," Ron growled, "why are you getting a letter from _my_ Mum?"

"She's writing me about the stuff everyone knows if they grew up with magic. I was raised as a Muggle, after all. I'm sure I've mentioned it. Actually, you were _there_." Harry added.

Ron threw up his hands, flipping over his plate. "I don't know what's wrong with you!" he shouted, startling Harry. "First we have a good time on the train together, but then it turns out you're friends with that _git_ Malfoy, _then_ you have a two hour talk with _Snape_, _then_ you get Neville's Remembrall back, and now you're moving in on _my Mum!"_

As Ron ranted, Harry began to get more and more angry. "What's wrong with _you, _Ron!" he shouted right back. "Are you that jealous, just because I have more friends that just _you?_ Is it the fact that I can fly rings around you? That I'm doing better in class? Or is it the _scar_ on my head? I would give it to you in a second if I could! Do you think I_ like_ having people staring at me for something I don't even _remember?_ Do you think that it's _fun?_" Harry's scar began to burn as he vented, not even noticing Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick rushing from the High Table.

"Do you think _my_ life is all roses?" Ron snarled. "I have _five_ older brothers! Everything I _own_ is a hand-me-down, from my robes to my rat! Even my _wand_ isn't mine! I don't have _anything_ of my own, and people don't like me! They're all flocking to _your_ side, even my own _family_!"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Professor Flitwick arrived. "Mr. Weasley! My office, _immediately_!" Both Harry and Ron paused, noticing that the entire Hall's attention was focused on them. Ron went bright red and ran out of the Hall.

"We must discuss the proper punishment, Professor," Snape said calmly. "I think that ten points from Gryffindor for interrupting a meal, along with five detentions for Weasley, would be quite appropriate."

"Severus!" Flitwick exclaimed. "The boy merely lost his temper! He is only eleven! Surely this does not deserve such a severe punishment."

"I think," said Dumbledore, who had somehow arrived without being seen, "that this discussion is best completed in my office." Flitwick and Snape, glaring at each other, followed the Headmaster out of the hall.

"I'll go talk to Ronald," Hermione said, sounding worried.

"Hermione, wait…" Harry called.

"Yes?"

"Tell him…" Harry hesitated. "Tell him that I'm sorry… if he'll hear it."

Hermione studied his face. "I will, Harry," she said finally. "But I'm not sure you are, really."

Harry fell silent. He didn't really have an answer to that. After a moment, the brunette left the room.

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

In Potions class later that day, Harry vented to Draco. "…and then he claimed that his family was _abandoning_ him!" he finished. "He deserves all of the detentions Professor Snape recommended!" Snape, passing by, gave a small smirk as he heard this.

Draco nodded sympathetically as he carefully poured unicorn horn dust into their cauldron. "He's a real git. It's no wonder our families hate each other. But I think that you need to calm down, and not think about him for a while."

Harry ran a hand through his hair absently, causing Professor Snape to stiffen for a moment. "I guess you're right, Draco. Why don't we have some of those lessons about the Noble houses, then?"

Draco shrugged. "Where shall I begin? Rights and privileges? The make-up of the Wizengamot? The distinction between different kinds of houses?"

Harry was bewildered. He had no idea that there were so many things to learn, but he was glad for it. "Start with the different types of houses, I guess."

"First of all are the Noble and Most Ancient Houses," Draco began. "There are thirteen of them, and they were the original noble houses when the British Ministry of Magic was founded. Black, Bones, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Lestrange, Longbottom, Malfoy, Patil, Potter, Ravenclaw, Rosier, Slytherin, and Tau.

"Then there are the Lesser Ancient Houses. There are a lot of them, like the Weasleys and the Crabbes. Most of them date back to around the 14th century, as opposed to the Noble and Most Ancient Houses, which all go back at least to the 10th century, sometimes earlier. Noble and Most Ancient Houses are mostly just called the Noble Houses, and the Lesser Ancient Houses are called the Lesser Houses.

"Now, the four Founders' houses are no longer extant, even though they probably have a few descendants through the female line. I think that the Malfoys have a Slytherin way back, but we're not able to claim to be the head of house; apparently there was some quality each founder had that their heirs would also have. In Slytherin's case, it's being a Parseltongue; the ability to speak to snakes, you know."

Harry started, remembering having spoken to the snake he had freed at the zoo. He had read about this in Professor Flitwick's present, but hadn't connected it to himself since then. Harry wondered for a moment where he had acquired the ability to speak Parseltongue, since the Potters had obviously not had it, or else they would have claimed the Slytherin line.

"Anyway, I don't know about the other three founders," said Draco. "They have equally rare talents, I suspect. And then the last heir of the Tau's left England during the last wizarding war, went to America, and I don't know what happened to her. But anyway, there are also two other kinds of houses. There's the really small houses, called the Minor Houses, and none of them date back to before the 17th century. And finally the muggleborn houses, which are technically called the Young Houses."

"Alright," said Harry, not noticing the angry glares Ron was shooting him, too absorbed in the new information. "And the Wizengamot?"

Draco smirked. "It's 144 members right now, and made of up three main groups. There're the Lords, who're the heads of the Noble Houses. You have a vote, or will once you come of age; but since your father is dead you actually 'Lord Potter'. I'm only the future Lord Malfoy, and I have to wait until my father either dies or chooses to retire from the position of head of house. Anyway, there are a few Lords who've just done exceptional things for the world; I know that Dumbledore was made a Lord for defeating Grindlewald, for example, and then Lord Flamel has had a seat for centuries, but I don't know when he got it. There are only nine Lords in the Wizengamot right now, though; Lord Lestrange and Lord Rosier are both in Azkaban, and Lady Tau is either in America or dead. And of course there isn't a Lord Ravenclaw, or any of the other founders."

"The second group is called the Barons," Draco continued, "and is supposedly people and families who've done good things for the Ministry, but most of them just donated a bunch of money. You get a seat there automatically if you get an Order of Merlin 1st class, too. There are a lot of them, 63, I think. And then there are 72 members who can be anyone, as long as they're nominated by a member and approved by a third of the Wizengamot. Well, I say 72, but it's really just the same as the number of Lords and Barons together. A new Lord comes in, a new member is elected in the half block. There's a lot of competition between various factions for those seats, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"What would happen," Harry asked, trying to make it sound like curiosity about something that would never happen, rather than something that _would_ come up when he turned seventeen, "if someone was the head of two Noble Houses? Like, you have a kid who's a parseltongue, and he becomes the head of Slytherin House, but he's already Lord Rosier. Would he have two votes?"

Draco gave him a long, appraising look. "They'd have two votes," he finally agreed. "Wondering what happens when you become Head of House Black?"

Harry was shocked. "What?" he exclaimed. "Why would I be head of House Black?"

Now _Draco _looked shocked. "Well, the current Lord Black is incapable of having children, and the only other heir is in Azkaban," he explained. "If you're sentenced to life in Azkaban, you're legally dead, so your will is read. I don't know the contents of it, because it had a provision that either his son or you would have to be at least sixteen for anyone to hear it, but… you really don't know this?"

"Of course I do," Harry drawled. "It's not like I was raised by magic-hating Muggles, after all."

Draco sighed. "Black was your godfather. Unless it's otherwise stated in his will, you get to be the heir to House Black."


	10. Chapter 10: Discovering a Godfather

_Draco sighed. "Black was your godfather. Unless it's otherwise stated in his will, you get to be the Head of House Black."_

* * *

Harry gaped. "What?" he finally managed. "Really?"

Draco nodded, a bit of a sour look on his face. "Yeah… I'm the closest male relative, so my parents were quite miffed when he was made your godfather. Mother especially; she was Black's cousin, you know, and had wanted the Black lands and property to stay in the family."

"Hold on a second," Harry said, and sat back to think, letting Draco take over the lavender slicing he had been doing. So… Sirius Black, the man who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort, was also his Godfather. Why would his parents have made a man like that his godfather, who would have taken him in if they died? No; they had trusted him, that's why he had been able to give them away. So…

Why _had_ they trusted him? Surely people as smart as his parents had been would have seen some clue, something that said Black wasn't trustworthy. He hadn't even been in Slytherin. Well… maybe there was some other reason. Was there some way of getting information out of a person's mind? There was probably some kind of truth potion, but surely a charm as powerful as Mr. Lupin had implied would've been able to cover that. He really needed to look it up…

"Not like that, Draco," Harry said suddenly, stopping Draco as he was about to remove the petals of the flowers. "It works better if you slice the middle out instead of just cutting the petals." Draco gave him a skeptical look, but obeyed as he continued to think.

Was there some other kind of magic to do that? Perhaps something to read minds? Maybe. "Draco," he asked, "is there some sort of magic that can force someone to reveal information?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, surely wondering what train of thought had led to that question. "Several," he said. "There's the Confundus charm, which compromises someone's common sense. If you get hit with it, someone could convince you that it's a good idea to tell them whatever the information is. Veritaserum, of course, will force you to tell the truth when they ask you. Let's see… there's something that can let you enter a person's mind… it starts with an 'L', but I don't remember the name. Oh, and the Imperius curse too."

Harry frowned. He had read that several of Voldemort's servants had been judged innocent by virtue of being under the Imperius curse, but _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ hadn't said what the curse did. "What does the Imperius do?"

"It makes the victim do whatever the caster wants," Draco said, adding the flower cores to the bubbling potion. "It can be fought off, but the stronger the caster is the harder to fight. My father is very strong-willed, but the Dark Lord was able to get him with the Imperius and control his mind."

Harry froze. He had, of course, known that Draco's father had been one of those who pleaded the Imperius, but… this could explain why Black betrayed his parents! If a wizard as powerful as Draco's father could be suborned by this curse, then Black probably could be as well! He hoped that another owl would come soon; he needed to talk to Mr. Lupin as soon as possible.

Or even to Dumbledore. Surely the greatest wizard in the world, as Ron called him, would want to get a possibly innocent man out of prison. Right? If Black was innocent, if he had been Confounded or dosed or caught with the Imperius, Veritaserum would reveal it. He would be out of prison, and if he was innocent, then maybe he would be able to live with Black instead!

_If _he's innocent, Harry reminded himself. It was entirely possible that Black had actually done what he was claimed to. He had certainly never denied it, but then he hadn't confessed either. Best not to try and think about it being one way or the other.

"Potter!" Snape snapped. "Are you arrogant enough to make Malfoy do your work for you?" Harry snapped back into reality at the sight of the professor looming over him.

"Sorry Professor, I just have a lot to think about." Harry snatched the next ingredient from Draco's hands and began preparing it for the potion.

* * *

That night, Ron sat all the way at other end of the Gryffindor table from Harry and Hermione.

"Well?" he asked her. "What did he say?"

She sighed. "Ron agreed to apologize…"

"Good," Harry growled.

Hermione continued as though she hadn't been interrupted. "…if you buy him a good broom for Christmas."

Harry's eyebrows snapped together angrily. "I'm already buying him and Ginny proper wands; well, certificates for proper wands; and he wants something ten times the cost instead? That's… well, ridiculous!"

Hermione shook her head. "Not instead of," she explained. "Along with. I know, it's greedy and ridiculous, but…"

Harry practically snarled. "No. I'm not going to _buy_ a friend. He's not getting a broom from me, not this year. And if he doesn't apologize, then I'm not getting him the wand, either."

Hermione shrugged. "I agree with you, he's being completely unreasonable. I think that maybe you should try to, well… try to talk to him. It doesn't have to be now but…"

They ate in silence for a while as Harry stewed inside. Finally, he said "All right. I'll try to talk to him in the common room tonight. I don't want to lose Gryffindor any more points if he blows up again."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about Snape," Hermione said, ceasing the opening for a change in subject. Harry observed it with amusement; she clearly didn't like the idea of her friends arguing. "Professor Snape–"

"–is… how shall I put this? He's… not the best teacher."

Harry paused with his fork halfway to his face. "What do you mean?"

The Ravenclaw sighed. "He hasn't explained anything about how potions work, ever. All he does is put the instructions on the board, in such tiny writing it's hard to read even from right in front. Then he walks around the room, criticizing without telling you how to fix the problems he points out."

"It's even worse for us Gryffindors, Hermione," Seamus Finnegan interjected. "He takes off points for anything and everything up to breathing, but only off of us, not the Slytherins. Whenever one of _them_ messes up, they claim that one of us sabotaged them, and he takes their word for it. But we tell him that they sabotaged us, which they _do_, he doesn't believe us. The git–"

"Seamus!" Hermione gasped, scandalized. "He's still a teacher!"

Harry just sat there as Hermione and Seamus argued about whether a teacher who didn't teach deserved respect. Why was Professor Snape not teaching? The books he had recommended were wonderful, and had definitely helped in Harry's understanding of the subject. Why wasn't _The ingredients Guide_ a course book? It was laid out simply and understandably, so it wasn't that it wouldn't make sense to younger readers. _Small but Important, _on the other hand, had explanations for why each little change had the effect it would, but the explanations went far over Harry's head. Even so, there was no reason he could see for Professor Snape to not put them on the book list.

And why _did_ he favor Slytherin so blatantly? Sure, he was their head of house; but Professor Flitwick was head of Gryffindor, and he was as lenient with the Hufflepuffs Harry had class with as the Gryffindors. And why did Professor Snape seem to hate Gryffindor? There was the house rivalry thing, but surely it wasn't that bad! He and Draco were the probably the most prominent students in their year, and they were friends.

Harry set the subject aside and decided to ask Professor Flitwick sometime. He was the head of house, and had actually insisted that any concerns be brought to him.

When he returned to the Common Room that night, Harry found Ron sitting in an armchair, surrounded by the other first-year Gryffindors. When they saw him, grins spread across their faces, until Ron snapped "Push off, all of you! I told you, this is private!"

They grumbled about it, but eventually left as Ron glared. After a few minutes, it was just Ron and Harry, staring at each other.

Ron sat back in his chair and sighed. "I suppose Hermione told you about our conversation."

Harry nodded. "I'm not buying you a broom," he warned.

Ron chuckled. "She really thought I was serious about that? What I said was 'maybe I should refuse to apologize until you buy me a broom'; it was a _joke_."

Harry burst out laughing. "Well, good, because after I heard that I was planning to not give you _anything_ for Christmas!" Ron looked panicked for a moment. "Look, are we both sorry about what happened?" The redhead nodded. "Then it's done, we're fine. You're getting a new wand, same as Neville and Ginny, and that's the end of it."

Ron sighed with relief. "Oh, good."

* * *

The next morning, Harry was glad to see a member of the cloud of owls swirling down towards him. He snatched the letter greedily and fed the ragged-looking owl a strip of bacon before he tore open the envelope.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm glad you're willing to see me. I'll go through the appropriate channels to return to Britain, and I should be there by the end of October. Perhaps I can come visit you for a proper talk on Halloween. _

_While I would like to believe that Black is innocent, there is no way I can think of for it to be that way. The Imperius curse broke on those who were under it when Voldemort was destroyed, and Black's murder of Peter occurred the day afterwards. There are other possibilities for why Black would've betrayed your parents, ones in which he is innocent. But none of these can explain why he killed Peter and twelve muggles. No, logic says that Black is guilty._

_However, you are correct that it is a travesty of justice to put anyone in prison with no chance to defend themselves; especially when the prison is Azkaban, which can be rightly called the worst place in the world. But let us leave this subject for our meeting. I can't send owls during the immigration process anymore, but I'll be looking forward to seeing you._

_Remus_

Harry finished the letter with a sinking heart. Mr. Lupin was right, Black was probably guilty. He wouldn't be able to take him from the Dursleys. But, Harry reminded himself, Mr. Lupin might. His first letter had implied that he would have raised Harry himself, but Dumbledore had wanted him with his relatives.

Which was strange. Dumbledore was the _Headmaster of Hogwarts_, the most powerful wizard in the world. Surely, he would have known how the Dursleys had treated their foster child. No… no, there had to be a reason for it. Not all of You-know-who's followers had been caught, after all. Perhaps there was some sort of protection over the Dursley's house. But that could have been placed somewhere else too, surely. So if there was a protection of some sort, it would have been something that couldn't be replicated, similar to whatever had saved him originally, perhaps.

What _had_ saved him, anyway? No one seemed to know; but maybe whatever it was could be… recharged? Maintained? If it could be kept alive by living with family, then that would be a good reason for it. Maybe. There was very little that could excuse leaving him with the Dursleys.

* * *

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_So there are a few questions I have, but I'll start by telling you about how my first two weeks went._

_I got Sorted into Gryffindor, first of all. I made five friends; Ron, who also got into Gryffindor (I noticed he hasn't sent you anything. Do you want me to bug him about that?), Neville Longbottom, who's in Gryffindor with me and Ron, a girl named Hermione Granger in Ravenclaw, Ginny and this kid named Draco Malfoy, who's in Slytherin . Oh, and Ron said something about a blood feud with the Malfoys, but Draco told me that there isn't anything like that. Can you clarify?_

_Anyway, I talked to Professor Snape about my Mum, and he told me a lot about her. He seems to like me, but he hates every other Gryffindor. I don't know why. I'm doing pretty well in my classes; I think I'm the best in Gryffindor at most of them, actually._

_Then there was the flying lesson. God Merlin, the flying lesson. That was weird. Neville fell off his broom and broke his wrist, and then Draco grabbed the Remembrall Neville's mum had sent him that morning. I convinced Draco to give it to Ron to return to Neville, by beating him in a Seeking competition. Professor Flitwick saw; I thought I was going to be expelled! But no, I was put onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team! Apparently they haven't had a decent seeker in years. Ah, well._

_Now, for my questions; what do people do after they get out of Hogwarts? From what I've seen, there aren't any versions of muggle jobs like accountants, and manufacturing is mostly pointless when people can make anything they want from anything._

_Harry_


	11. Chapter 11: Halloween

_Dear Harry,_

_You got onto the Quidditch team? Harry, I can't say that I'm not impressed, but that's very dangerous! First-years aren't allowed to play on the teams for a reason. I suppose that you're not my son, so I can't demand that you quit the team, but I _insist_ that you be _careful_._

_Now then. A Blood feud with the Malfoy's? No, your friend Draco is right. There's no feud. Yes, my husband and Lucius Malfoy hate each other, and our families have opposite views on just about everything, but there isn't a blood feud. The problem with a blood feud, you see, is that all of your family is brought into it; and all pureblood families are related relatively closely. Narcissa Malfoy was a Black, and Arthur's mother was a Black too (she was disinherited, though), so we're not that far away. The Malfoys would be dragged into a feud-by-proxy with themselves, and that's impossible. So it's really rare for there to be a blood feud between two pureblood families. It does happen occasionally, though. I believe that the last time was between the Tau and Dumont families; it only ended when the Dumont family was entirely wiped out, and the Tau family had only one branch left, and that was nearly a century ago._

_Now, you wanted to know what happens after wizards finish school. Well, most wizards go into either the Ministry of Magic or into retail of some sort. We don't have a large population, and so a good half of the population is working in Diagon Alley or one of its branches, like Knockturn Alley, where you should never ever go. I'm counting Quidditch players and their associates among Diagon Alley too, by the way. About another third of us are in the Ministry, and most of the rest are all unemployed, being supported by a member of the family or just homeless. I don't have a job, for example, and we get along on Arthur's salary. Caring for seven children is a full-time job, after all. I'm thinking of getting a job for the school year, though; I used to work as a teacher in Hogsmeade, you see._

_And then there are the people who work at Hogwarts. The Professors. It's one of the most prestigious jobs in Britain. You need to have gotten an 'O' on your OWL for that subject, _and_ an 'O' on the NEWT, _and_ you need to pass an extremely difficult test to get a Mastery in that subject, _and_ you have to have passed three other NEWTs at minimum. So any professor at Hogwarts is better at magic than just about anyone. Professor Snape actually has two Masteries, in Defense and Potions. Professor Flitwick has two as well, Charms and Defense, but most of the others have just the one. Headmaster Dumbledore, though, has _three_ Masteries! Defense, Transfiguration, _and_ Charms. There are only four people who've ever gotten three Masteries, ever. Professor Dumbledore is probably one of the best wizards in history, so you should be glad to have him as a Headmaster._

_And please, write to me just as Molly._

_Molly._

_PS: I'm sending you a book of common household charms. It includes common cleaning spells, like _Scourgify,_ and even tooth-brushing spells, like _Dentimuno. _It's very useful, and I encourage you to read through it._

Harry read the letter before opening the package Mrs. Weasley – Molly, he corrected himself – had sent him along with it. It was indeed a book, called _101 Simple Charms No Wizard Can Do Without. _He flipped through it for a minute or so, and found several spells he resolved to master as soon as possible, like the umbrella charm and the one which would style your hair for you; although, he mused, it probably wouldn't work on him. Still, it would be funny to cast it on Ron when he wasn't expecting it. And he had somehow gotten the mental picture of Draco in pigtails, and just couldn't get rid of it. He chuckled.

"What did she say?" asked Ron. It looked like he was still harboring some resentment about Harry's correspondence with his mother, judging by his expression, but at least he was keeping a hold on his temper this time. Harry made a mental note to try and spend more time with him; that might help with his burgeoning jealousy issues. He wondered what kind of games wizards played; he would ask Ron in the common room that night.

"She said that there's not a blood feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys," Harry told him. "And she told me a little about wizarding jobs. Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?"

Ron sputtered. "No blood feud? I'm sure there is one. And I've always wanted to be a professional Keeper for Quidditch. How about you?"

Harry shook his head. "I've now got both a Weasley and a Malfoy denying the blood feud, so you're outnumbered. And I have no idea. What kind of jobs are there? Your mum was pretty general."

Ron dusted some crumbs from his fingers. "Well, as far as Diagon Alley goes, shopkeepers and the people who make stuff," he said. "There's a few business that don't exist yet which I can see openings for, but mostly that's shut up tight aside from keeping a store or making stuff for one. In the Ministry, there's a bunch of different departments; the DMLE, that's magical law enforcement… the DIMC, that's international magical cooperation… Dad works in the DRMA, that's regulation of muggle artifacts…"

Harry listened to Ron explain jobs in more detail absently as he ate. Hogwarts was quickly becoming normal to him, despite how strange it was; and he liked it.

* * *

That night, Harry asked Ron about any wizarding board games, and five minutes later, he was being thoroughly trounced at chess. He stared down at the board, wondering how on earth Ron had beaten him so thoroughly in just a few minutes. "This," he said firmly, "is impossible. I could've been a Ravenclaw _or_ a Slytherin, you were Gryffindor the moment the Hat touched your head!"

Ron laughed. "Don't feel bad, Harry. I beat _everyone_ at chess. Fred and George say it's kind of ridiculous. Besides, you're probably not used to having the pieces argue with you."

"True," Harry admitted. "But even so…"

"Ah, it seems that Harrykins has discovered the wonders of chess–"

"–and of being trounced at it by our wonderful brother." Fred and George stood over Harry and Ron, wide grins splashed across their faces.

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Yes? What do you want?"

Fred, unless it was George, looked aghast. "Why, Harry! You assume that we want to rope you into something?" Harry just waited.

George, or maybe Fred, burst out laughing. "He's got us there, dear brother!" he exclaimed.

"Well, Harry, we were wondering how you'd feel about helping us–"

"With a prank."

"A particularly _ingenious prank," the other added._

His brother gave him an annoyed look. "With us, are they any other kinds?"

Harry blinked. It was hard to keep track of them when they kept changing who was speaking. "What sort of prank?" he said cautiously.

"Well, young 'un, our much-loved potions master is quite taken with you," the one on the left began.

"We have no idea why, of course," the one on the right commented.

"Of course. In any case, he seems to like you, even though he hates the rest of Gryffindor."

"So we were wondering if you'd help us by distracting him, while we invade his private quarters."

"To plant a rather _special_ concoction we've cooked up, if you will."

"What does it do?" Ron asked, clearly hoping for something gruesome.

"Well, Ronnikins," began the one that Harry was pretty sure was Fred, "I'm sure you've noticed Snape's lustrous hair?" Ron nodded with a snicker.

Maybe-George smirked. "We're going to plant a potion in his shampoo that will turn his hair bright pink and make it form into… amusing shapes."

"But he doesn't use shampoo," said Lee Jordan, who was passing.

"Right," agreed Fred. "So we'll also enchant it to spray at people, and to float around after him the whole day."

Harry wrinkled his nose. At least he didn't have Potions today. "And you need me to…"

"Merely ask him for a favor that requires him to leave his quarters," George said.

"Ask if he can explain how to brew an advanced potion," Fred suggested. "Pepperup Potion, maybe, or Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"Do dreamless sleep," George recommended. "Say that you've been having nightmares."

"But I haven't been having bad dreams," Harry protested.

"Actually," said Ron, "you keep shifting in the night, and moaning weirdly. It sounds like you're pleading with someone not to do something. I didn't want to say anything, but…"

Harry blinked. "Really?"

Ron nodded, and Harry tapped his cheek thougtfully. "Well… give me some time to think about it, alright? It's… well, it could lose everyone involved a lot of points, so…"

Fred or George shrugged. "Just decide by this time next week," he said. "The potion will spoil in eight days, if we've brewed it right; and we have. And–"

"–there's a little something that Professor Flitwick helped us cook up."

"What?" asked Ron.

"We call it a Bloody Bomb," Fred said, flipping the little black sphere at Ron and disappearing, along with George. Ron began loudly complaining about them in an incredibly vulgar way, using many words that Harry had never heard before.

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

The next morning, Harry told the twins that he'd decided it would be better not if he not help out. After all, Professor Snape could make his life difficult for him, and it wasn't a good idea to get on the wrong side of people in authority, especially so early in the year. At least, that was what he told them; actually, he rather liked Professor Snape. Perhaps they could meet again so that he could hear more about his Mum.

The twins were agreeable about him not helping, but only until he told them why. "Harry!" Fred said, seeming shocked. "What's wrong with ticking off authority figures?"

"We haven't done much else, and look how well we're doing!" George exclaimed.

Harry sighed. "Professor Snape is not the most… even-tempered of men," he said, trying to find a good word in his extensive vocabulary. "He…"

"He's a right bastard is what he is," Fred muttered.

"Why, brother!" said George, aghast. "Swearing in front of the little 'un! How rude!"

"Heard it before," Harry shrugged. "I did go to public school, after all." He made a face. "May I continue?"

"But of course," they said in unison.

"Professor Snape would be _very _upset with me if he found out my role," Harry said. "And I want to hear more about my Mum."

George blinked. "Snape knew your Mum?"

"They were friends in school."

"Well then, we can't let him not tell you everything he knows!" Fred declared. "Of course, you mustn't upset him."

* * *

Time began to pass quickly. Harry soon reached the top of his classes, reading theory books in his spare time and mastering, one by one, the spells in the book Molly had sent him. He continued to correspond with Molly, and continued to lose to Ron in Wizard chess. Beginning to get tired of being trounced, Harry searched the library for books on chess theory; however, the closest thing he found was about how to get the living chessmen to like you. This was surprisingly helpful; after he ordered a set of pieces for himself and befriended its chessmen, the length of his games with Ron nearly doubled. Of course, that was only another ten minutes, but Ron was quite impressed by how he did without the chessmen swearing at him.

Before long, Halloween was approaching. Mr. Lupin had confirmed that he had arrived in Britain and would be by during the feast. Decorations were beginning to appear, all throughout the school; a week or so before the date, Professor Flitwick filled his classroom with illusory bats and taught the class how to charm a pumpkin to empty itself on its own. On the 26th, Professor McGonagall taught them how to transfigure a wooden knife into a metal one, and had them demonstrate the knives by carving pumpkins. Professor Adams was rumored to have brought in a boggart for his third-years, and even Professor Snape seemed to be infected with a small amount of Halloween spirit, having his first-years brew a Draught of Dark Eyes, which just _happened _to have a base of pumpkin juice.

All in all, Harry was having a wonderful time at Hogwarts, marred by just two things; the continuing hatred from Ron for Draco, although Draco seemed to be merely indifferent towards Ron, and Hermione's mysterious behavior. She still avoided her Ravenclaw peers, choosing instead to spend her time either in the library or with Harry. But when he grilled her about it, she refused to explain, instead suddenly remembering about some piece of homework or extra credit that she had to do.

On Halloween morning, Harry sat bolt upright in bed the moment he woke; he would finally meet Mr. Lupin today! He couldn't wait.

"Oi!" Ron called, throwing a pillow at him from his own bed. "Wake up, lazybones. Oh, you're awake without me."

Harry grabbed the pillow and poked it with his wand. He had been having trouble with a transfiguration they had been learning last week; he had worked it out with Hermione's help, but until he had there was a tendency for objects to squish up into balls. He performed the wand motion, omitting the subtle twist at the end he had been missing, and it curled up into a sphere.

"Um, Harry?" Ron said, beginning to look confused and somewhat worried by Harry's actions. "What are you– oof!" Harry had flung the pillow-ball like a quaffle, sending it right into Ron's face. Ron began laughing, and flung it right back at his friend.

After half an hour, they gave up their pillow-ball fight, and went down to breakfast. Hermione was already at the Gryffindor Table, but Neville seemed to still be asleep.

"Hey Hermione," Harry said.

"Hello Harry," she said, pouring syrup over her pancakes. "How are you?"

"I'm excited!" he exclaimed, snatching a plate and loading it with waffles. He began to explain that Mr. Lupin would be there that day, but the Ravenclaw girl interrupted him before he could.

"Me too!" she exclaimed. "Professor Flitwick said that we'll be starting on levitation charms today, I can't wait!"

Harry blinked. "Actually, I was excited because Mr. Lupin is supposed to come for the feast."

"Oh, right." She pokes at her pancakes for a moment before looking up. "Harry, this Mr. Lupin…"

"Yes?"

"How well do you really know him?" he stared at her uncomprehendingly, not knowing what the girl was getting at. Hermione sighed. "Harry, there are loads of people who supported You-Know-Who. Not all of them went to jail, either. Some of them are still running around… like Malfoy's dad, for example." She scowled. "Imperius curse… yeah, right."

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, "Draco's my friend. Please, don't bad-mouth him or his family. At least not in front of me."

"All right, Harry, but still. Do you know this Lupin fellow well enough to be sure that he didn't support You-Know-Who? What if he's under the Imperius?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Hermione, I'm sure that Dumbledore wouldn't have agreed to let him come if he was under the Imperius."

"But that's just it!" she exclaimed. "Dumbledore isn't happy about it, look! He wouldn't let this Lupin fellow come until you said that you wanted to meet him!"

"Hermione," Ron butted it, "leave it be, will you? The bloke knew Harry's mum and dad, do you really want Harry not to meet him?"

"Well, of course not, but–"

"Hermione!" Harry said sharply. "I'm going to meet with Mr. Lupin tonight, and that's final. Understand?"

But it seemed that Hermione did not understand. She stormed off, sitting with Ginny and her friends at the Ravenclaw table, and refused to speak to any of them, even Neville, who came down several minutes later. When they went to Charms after breakfast, Ron could be heard complaining loudly.

"She thinks she knows what's good for everyone, better than they do! What right does she have to control your life for you?" Ron fumed. Meanwhile, Draco entered and gave Ron a strange look, then raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Excuse me, Ron, I'll be back," Harry said, sliding out of his chair and hurrying over to Draco.

"What's Weasley going on about?" Draco asked as he sat.

Harry ran a hand through his hair absently. "I told you about Mr. Lupin, right?" the Slytherin boy nodded and Harry continued. "He's coming to visit tonight, and–"

"Oh, good for you!" Draco interrupted enthusiastically. "Maybe he'll be willing to tell you about your dad; I know Uncle Severus hated him."

Harry gaped at Draco. "_Uncle Severus?_"

Draco shrugged. "Hey, he's my godfather."

Harry chuckled. "I know, but still; _Uncle?"_ Draco looked uncomfortable, and Harry laughed.

"Can we get back to what you were saying, please?"

"You were the one who interrupted," Harry pointed out. "But all right. _As I was saying_, Mr. Lupin is coming tonight, and Hermione thinks that I shouldn't talk to him."

Draco looked puzzled. "Why on earth would Granger think that?"

Harry shrugged. "She's worried that he's under the Imperius or supported You-Know-Who or something. I don't know why either of those would be possible…"

Draco nodded. "All of the Dark Lord's followers were either under the Imperius or are now in Azkaban. Or dead. Besides, Hogwarts is the safest place in all of Wizarding Britain."

"And on top of that, Dumbledore will there the whole time," Harry agreed. "There's no reason to think–" but he was cut off by Flitwick's entrance and had to return to the desk he shared with Ron.

A few minutes into Flitwick's lecture on the charm they were to start practicing today, the Hover charm, Ron poked Harry's arm and pointed to his parchment.

_What do you see in that guy?_ Ron had scrawled.

_Which guy?_ Harry wrote back. _Draco?_

_Yeah._

_He's not that bad you know_, Harry scribbled. _We both like Quidditch, we both have similar talents…_

_He's a rich twat. _This was followed by a tiny doodle of someone – probably Draco – flying on a broom. Ron poked the paper with his wand and the broom turned a shiny golden color.

Harry smothered a chuckle and drew his own doodle; himself, flying on another golden broom with a silver set of robes. _I'm even richer, I hear,_ he replied. _Am I a twat?_

_It's not the richness,_ Ron quickly wrote, _it's that he won't shut up about it_. He proceeded to draw Draco again, with his mouth wide open and a speech bubble filled with a huge $.

_Actually_, Harry corrected him, _it's more like this._ Harry drew his own speech bubble for the doodle, filled with a quick sketch of a Quidditch field. _And for you too._

_I resemble that remark_.

"Any questions?" called Professor Flitwick. Harry quickly turned away from his paper and began rereading the section on the Hover charm.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick shortly afterwards, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too - never forget Baron Baruffian, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult. Harry and Ron swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop.

Seamus, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he shouted, prodding the feather, and it burst into flames.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Draco snap. "It's Wing-gaar-dium Levi-oo-sa, with a long 'gar' and 'o'. Honestly, you're a disgrace to the name of wizardry."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Draco rolled up the sleeves of his robe, flicked his wand, and said "_Wingardium Leviosa."_ The feather rose slowly, then suddenly shot up and slammed repeatedly into the ceiling. Harry winced.

"Prat," Ron said smugly, turning back to their own feather. "Now then–"

"Wait, I want another go," Harry said. He concentrated fiercely, and flicked his wand. _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ he said, trying to imagine the feather floating, as though in water. He concentrated on the air acting like water, buoying the feather up, and…

Nothing happened. He sighed. Clearly, the universe had no sense of the dramatic.

* * *

Their History lesson that afternoon went no better. Their History lesson that afternoon went no better. Unable to pay attention to Professor Silas's story about Herpo the Foul, they instead played hangman on a bit of scratch parchment. Hermione, sitting behind them, glared constantly and whispered about how irresponsible they were being. Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder none of the Ravenclaws can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly. I need my Gryffindor bravery to deal with her, I swear."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face - and was startled to see that she was in tears. "I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Well, us, I guess," Ron said. "And Ginny too. But none of the other Ravenclaws can stand her. She's even more bookish than they are, and that's saying something."

Harry considered this, and realized that it made sense. She avoided her housemates because they didn't like her; she hung out with them because he was nice to her. Hermione didn't turn up for Herbology after lunch, when she had sat alone at the Ravenclaw table again, and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Lisa Turpin telling Padma Patil that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone, but that Ginny had gone to comfort her after 'her prat of a brother upsetting her'. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. Harry glanced at the Head Table; sitting on Dumbledore's left side was a ragged looking man with dark blue robes and faint scars on his face. It must have been Mr. Lupin, as the man glanced at him, smiled, and mouthed _after dinner_. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when a bright silvery crocodile suddenly came swimming through the air into the Great Hall. Everyone stared at it, but before anyone could panic it opened its eyes and said, in the clear, carrying voice of Professor Adams, "There is a troll in the dungeons. It has eluded me, but only for now. The students may be in danger."


	12. Chapter 12: The Troll

_Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when a bright silvery crocodile came swimming through the air into the Great Hall. Everyone stared at it, but before anyone could panic it opened its eyes and said, in the clear, carrying voice of Professor Adams, "There is a troll in the dungeons. It has eluded me, but only for now. The students may be in danger."_

* * *

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence as the silver crocodile disappeared.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately! Teachers, come with me to find the troll!"

Percy was in his element. "Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke or something. At least Professor Adams got a message to us."

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly stopped, realizing something.

Ron noticed Harry's halt, and paused as well. "Harry?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Hermione and Ginny!" Harry said, eyes wide. "They doesn't know about the troll!"

Ron bit his lip. "Oh, all right. But Percy had better not see us."

Harry stared at him like he was mad. "What're you talking about?" he asked. "We need to find a teacher!"

Ron smacked himself in the forehead. "Duh… why didn't I think of that? I thought we were going to go get her ourselves."

"Maybe because you're a Gryffindor through and through?" Harry said dryly as they darted back to the great hall. They corner and slammed right into Remus Lupin.

Lupin blinked. "Harry? What are you doing here? You should be getting back to the Tower. And your friend, too."

"Mr. Lupin!" Harry gasped, climbing to his feet and giving Ron a hand up. "Hermione and Ginny don't know about the troll!"

Lupin's slightly scarred face instantly set firmly. "Where?"

"Er… third floor girls' bathroom, I think," Harry said, and Lupin set off immediately, walking almost too fast for Ron and Harry to keep up. "She was upset by something that happened before the feast, and Ginny–"

"I know the feeling," Lupin said shortly. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "I assume that there is no point in attempting to dissuade you two from following me?"

"That's right," Ron agreed, huffing and puffing with the attempt to keep up with the tall, scarred man.

"Then I must ask that you remain _out of the way_. I am an expert in Dark creatures, and I know the weak points of a troll. We probably won't run into it, of course, as the troll is in the dungeons. But if we do, your spells won't be able to penetrate the troll's hide, and will only distract me.

Harry and Ron nodded, Lupin's calm tone deadening their panic. After all, Hermione and Ginny were on the third floor, far above the troll. There was no reason to worry. Hermione would be fine, they would be fine, and–

Harry stopped, confused, as Lupin halted and brought a fist up next to his head. Ron continued moving until the scarred man grabbed the back of his robes.

"Mr. Lupin, what–" Ron began before being silenced by a finger to his lips. Lupin closed his eyes, apparently listening for something. After a moment, Harry thought that he heard it as well; a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of enormous feet.

Lupin's lips moved silently for a moment, then he said "The troll is on the other side of this wall," he said, nodding to the right. "Around two corners. _Remain here._" Without waiting for an answer, Lupin silently padded around the corner.

Harry and Ron looked at each other for a moment. "This is _so cool_." Ron said suddenly. "It's like one of those auror stories! Hey, we should go peek at what's happening!"

Harry, however, hesitated. "I don't know if we should–" but was interrupted by a blood-curling scream coming from the other side of the wall. "Hermione!" he shouted as Ron cried "Ginny!", and they dashed forward. As they rounded the corner, they heard a thunderous crash, and the troll came flying through the door of the girl's bathroom, slamming into the opposite wall. Lupin stood in the doorway with pale orange mist seeping from the end of his wand, face set in an expression of perfect calm apart from a faint smile. Harry could make our Hermione and Ginny cowering under the sink behind him.

The troll lurched to its feet and swung its club at Lupin's head, causing Harry to shout out, but Lupin simply ducked casually under it. The man flicked his wand easily, and a bolt of uninteresting grey light spilled from his wand, engulfing the monster's head. It blinked stupidly for a moment, turning around as though unable to see where Lupin was, or perhaps simply not caring. At first Harry thought that Lupin had won, but then the troll spotted Harry and Ron and the grey light seemed to collapse. It lumbered forward.

Harry was frozen in place as the Troll stomped towards him and Ron, while Lupin seemed to panic and hurled spells at the troll, all of which simply splashed harmlessly on its thick skin. Trolls, he remembered, were immune or resistant to most spells. Their skin was almost three inches thick, he thought, and would harden into something approaching the consistency of stone, freezing the beast in place, in direct sunlight. But that was useless, as they were inside. He absently noted that the troll's eyes were the clearest blue he had ever seen.

Ron, meanwhile, was raising his wand in a surprisingly steady hand. "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_ the redhead cried, surely simply casting the first spell he could think of. But the troll's club lifted right out of its hands, causing the troll to stop in its tracks, staring at the club floating above its head. Ron dropped his wand sharply, causing the club to collide with the monster's forehead and knocking it out. Harry observed this with an oddly disconnected interest.

Lupin was staring at Ron and the knocked out troll with his mouth gaping, while Hermione peeked out from behind his robes. At that point, Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Snape all came around the corner and stopped, speechless, at the sight in front of them.

After a moment, Dumbledore found his voice. "Remus," he said, eyes beginning to twinkle, "what exactly happened here?"

Lupin closed his mouth, shook his head, and answered "Harry and the young man there; are you a Weasley, by any chance? I thought so… anyway, the two of them ran into me as I was leaving the Hall. They informed me that these young ladies here were in the bathroom, having been upset over something and comforting the other, and so didn't know about the troll. I went to go collect them and escort her and the young men back to the towers." He smiled a little. "I heard the troll, and so was prepared to drive it back from the young ladies, into the corridor. The troll then noticed Harry and Mr. Weasley, and set off to assault them. Mr. Weasley used a levitation charm to knock the troll out with its own club."

Dumbledore was smiling widely by the end of the tale, Flitwick had a little smirk on his face, and Snape was glaring at Ron. "Mr. Weasley!" the smallest professor said, rather proudly, "twenty points to Gryffindor, for realizing that such a simple charm could take out a mountain troll."

"And ten points for alerting a teacher rather than seeking out Miss Granger and your sister on your own," Dumbledore added. "A failing of most young Gryffindors is that they head off to battle without a second thought, and don't, say, tell a more experienced wizard about the problem."

Lupin turned to Hermione. "Miss… Granger, was it? Are you all right?"

Hermione glanced down at herself. "I… I think so. I don't feel any pain." Then, however, she noticed her arm. It appeared to have three elbows. "…oh…" she said, faintly. Ginny was looking at it wide-eyed, apparently speechless, and then gave a little sigh and half-toppled over before Remus caught her.

"Please escort her to the Hospital Wing, Filius," Dumbledore said. "And cast a pain-deadening charm on her as well; I expect the shock will wear off soon. And perhaps you should take Miss Weasley there as well." Flitwick nodded and gently steered Hermione down the hallway, levitating Ginny along with him. Dumbledore smiled widely. "Now then, we said thirty points, correct?"

Snape seemed to find his voice at this point. "Are you sure you should be so… lenient?" he asked icily.

Dumbledore frowned. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Severus."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You do not teach Weasley, but I do; and I assure you, he is not at all competent. He is thoughtless, irresponsible; I have mentioned to you my concerns about his association with and influence on Potter."

Harry gasped. What was this?

Dumbledore raised his own eyebrow, mirroring Snape's. "Indeed. And?"

"I think that the true course of events is clear," Snape continued. "Weasley convinced Potter to go searching for the troll, and they stumbled into Lupin. Potter concocted a story to cover for them, and it went as Lupin said from there. But this raises another interesting question. Why was Lupin here in the first place?" Amid his silent fuming about Snape's clear hatred of Ron, Harry remembered that Snape had not been present during the Halloween Feast; where _had_ he been?

"I can answer that, Albus," Lupin said as Dumbledore opened his mouth. "I've been corresponding with Harry for almost two months now, after he contacted me to ask about his father. After I returned to Britain, I made arrangements to meet with Harry in person. After some time, Albus agreed to have me come for a night, on Halloween."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "The guardian of a child is not permitted to visit," he hissed. "Get out of this castle, Lupin."

"But Remus is not Harry's guardian," Dumbledore interjected. "In fact, visiting Harry is not even his primary purpose here. He will be giving a lecture in Defense Against the Dark Arts." Lupin blinked at this in apparent surprise, and Harry guessed that Dumbledore had decided this right then and there. He was pretty sure this wasn't the best idea; Snape looked ready to leap at Lupin and strangle him with his bare hands now.

"Professor Snape?" Harry said, and everyone turned to look at him. He took a deep breath. "Mr. Lupin knew my parents, and was close to my father. I know that you don't like speaking of my father, but I do want to hear about him."

Snape glared at Lupin with more hate than Harry had ever seen. For a moment, he was worried that Snape would lose control of his magic and incinerate Lupin. But no, he thought, Snape was too in control of himself; somehow he couldn't imagine the Potions Professor hurting anyone that he didn't want to. And Lupin was clearly an experienced fighter; Harry wondered if he'd been an auror while in America. In any case, he would surely be fine if Snape did lose control. And Dumbledore was there as well.

"…do you understand me, Potter?" Harry blinked, realizing that while he worried, Snape had been giving him a stern lecture.

"Sorry, Professor, I was… thinking." Harry met Snape's blazing black eyes steadily. "Do you mind saying that again?" He felt an odd tickling sensation at the back of his eyeballs and blinked furiously. It went away, and he promptly forgot about it.

Harry was all too aware that he was probably the only student in the school who could ask Professor Snape to repeat himself, and took a strange pleasure in the astounded expression on Lupin and Ron's faces as Snape told him again that Lupin was dangerous and that he should go to Dumbledore or himself the moment that he felt the least bit threatened. Ron's expression was priceless; Professor Snape, showing _concern_ for a student! A _Gryffindor_ no less. Mr. Lupin, meanwhile, was simply smiling benignly, seeming to be more amused by Snape's tirade than anything else. Dumbledore had his eyes closed and appeared to be sucking on a sweet of some sort with a look of bliss.

"Yes, Professor Snape," Harry said. "I understand."


	13. Chapter 13: A Talk with Remus

_Harry was all too aware that he was probably the only student in the school who could ask Professor Snape to repeat himself, and took a strange pleasure in the astounded expression on Lupin and Ron's faces as Snape told him again that Lupin was dangerous and that he should go to Dumbledore or himself the moment that he felt the least bit threatened. Ron's expression was priceless; Professor Snape, showing concern for a student! A Gryffindor no less. Mr. Lupin, meanwhile, was simply smiling benignly, seeming to be more amused by Snape's tirade than anything else. Dumbledore had his eyes closed and appeared to be sucking on a sweet of some sort with a look of bliss._

"_Yes, Professor Snape," Harry said. "I understand."_

* * *

Snape nodded curtly and strode off, Dumbledore following with a wink at Harry. Lupin glanced at Harry. "I know you said you were on good turns with Severus," he said with a faint smile, "but please forgive me having found it hard to believe. His only friend, as far as I know, was your mother, and, to be frank, I'm not sure why."

Ron snorted. "I can't imagine Snape being friends with anyone," he said when Lupin looked at him. "Did you know that Harry is the only Gryffindor who hasn't lost points from him this year?"

Lupin shrugged. "Far be it for me to criticize a professor's teaching style," he said quietly. "But if you'd excuse us, Mr. Weasley, I'd like to speak to Harry privately." Ron nodded and ambled off in the direction of the Hospital Wing, presumably to see how Hermione was doing. Lupin turned back to Harry. "Albus has lent me the use of a small office while I am here," he told him. "Come, I'll show you a few shortcuts."

* * *

Mr. Lupin led Harry behind a tapestry and up a stairwell that acted like an escalator from the muggle world. Out from behind a portrait of Selwyn Gaunt on the eighth floor and down a floor to the seventh, where he paced thrice in front of a blank wall, causing a slide down to the first floor to appear. Across a single corridor into the office, which had a small bed in the corner and a few amenities as well as a pair of comfy chairs across from the fireplace. It had only taken a few minutes.

"Beg pardon," Harry said, "But was that really faster than just going down two stories and moving wherever?"

Lupin nodded. "Hogwarts can be… temperamental, I suppose. It doesn't always let you get where you want to by the main corridors. Shortcuts like that are much more reliable; things like the day of the week and the phase of the moon can affect it," he explained. "You'll get the hang of it eventually. In this case, going here from where we were would've required going up to the ninth floor, then down to the second sub-basement, before we could get here. The slide on the seventh floor can lead to wherever you like below it, though, as long as there's no room there already."

"Handy," Harry said, impressed. "Anyway, I didn't get to say it earlier, but…" he stuck out a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Lupin."

Lupin smiled wanly as he shook the boy's hand; it looked like he hadn't smiled in years. "Please, call me Remus. I don't like the sound of 'Mr. Lupin'. Far too formal, especially for the son of my oldest friend."

Harry cocked his head to the side and tried it out. "Remus... I guess that works. Alright then. Remus."

Remus leaned back in his chair, absently twirling his wand between his fingers. "So. Where shall we begin?"

"I'd like to hear about you. If all goes well, I hope that you'll be able to become my guardian and take me from the Dursleys. But obviously I need to know more about you first."

Remus sighed. "I wish I could, Harry, but there are reasons that I can't. I can't look after any child, in fact, much as I'd like to. But... are your relatives really that bad?"

Now Harry returned the scarred man's wan smile. "I'd rather not refer to them as my family."

Lupin shuddered; it was clear that Harry meant what he said. "Well, I can certainly tell you about myself if you like. Would you prefer my recent life, or my days at Hogwarts?"

"When you were at Hogwarts," Harry said promptly. "Although I am curious about why you were in America."

Remus sighed. "Dumbledore didn't want me near you. He thought that you were safe at your relatives' house and was afraid I'd take you, and damned be the consequences. From what I gather," he added, "I probably would've. But I've had time to cool off. I think there are some sort of wards tied to your mother's blood, something strong which can't be replicated."

Harry nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense. I know there were people who served Vold- sorry, You-Know-Who-"

"Voldemort," Remus said levelly. "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." It sounded as though he was quoting someone.

Harry considered this for a moment, and nodded in agreement. "Voldemort, then. Not everyone who served him was caught, and some of them might want to hurt me."

Lupin shrugged. "Most are probably too wary to do it directly, but they could engineer something. In any case, he sent me to America, and I became an Auror for the American ministry."

"Ah, so that's where you became a specialist in Dark creatures," Harry guessed.

Remus shook his head. "I was hired _as_ a specialist in Dark creatures," he said quietly. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "A member of my family became a werewolf, you see," he told Harry. "My… my younger brother. I've spent much of my life searching for a cure for the condition, and I always meet him during the full moon to help contain him." Lupin sighed. "I've made no success. Thankfully there is the Wolfsbane Potion now, but still."

Harry nodded. "I can understand that, I suppose," he said. "Is that why you're not allowed to have kids? Because you're in close contact with a werewolf?"

Lupin looked away. "I'd rather not discuss that," he said. "It's a painful subject for me. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Harry was silent for a minute or so before he changed the subject to a less painful one. "What's the United States like compared to Britain?" he asked.

Lupin smiled. "Well," he began, "there are significant cultural differences. Something you need to understand is that very few wizards went to the New World along with the Muggles. There were some, of course, a few Dark wizards who wanted freedom and a Light family or two that wanted to keep an eye on them. The original plan, I understand, was to make a few conclaves that muggleborns could come to, three or four across the whole continent. But the vast majority of wizards in America are muggleborn or descended from muggleborns within a few generations, and they still felt connected to the muggle world, and stay wide-spread." Harry nodded, and Remus continued. "So, with the massive influx of muggleborns, the society is much closer connected to the muggle one. While here in Britain we're either ahead of or behind the times–"

"In what ways?" Harry interrupted. "Sorry," he added when Lupin raised his eyebrows.

"No, no problem. But since you ask; the prison system in Wizarding Britain is _horrific_," Remus snarled. "The prisoners in Azkaban have _no_ rights; they get food only once a day, just a small bowl of thin gruel; they have no visitation rights, any visits are at the pleasure of the warden. They are inflicted with the power of the Dementors day and night, with no rest or break from it. The justification given is that it keeps anyone from escaping, and it's true that no-one has ever escaped from Azkaban. But there's another prison, Nurmengard. It was built by Grindlewald, to be inescapable without requiring the use of Dementors, creatures Darker than even he wanted to associated with." During his speech, Remus turned his wand through his fingers faster and faster, until light began to shine from it as though leaking from the force of the spinning. "Grindlewald is confined along with his compatriots in his own prison, and has been for forty years. Even he, who enchanted the tower personally and knows the spells better than any other, cannot escape from it. _But we use Dementors!"_

Lupin paused and stopped spinning his wand, taking several deep breathes, before he continued. "There are many wizarding prisons across America, none with Dementors. The muggleborn population doesn't stand for it. Instead, they are patterned after Nurmengard, and there have been no escapes since that was accomplished. This is," he added, "another sore point for me."

Harry quickly moved the conversation on. "And we're ahead of the times in other ways?"

Remus nodded. "The wizarding world has fewer prejudices than the muggle world," he explained. "Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we have different ones. Muggles only recently got over believing that gender or skin color matter, and are still coming to the realization that it doesn't matter if you're homosexual. Wizarding society hasn't had those problems for years. We have the muggleborn issue, and Dark and Light magics, instead."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "And America is closer to muggle society as far as that goes?"

Lupin nodded. "They're getting over it a little ahead of the muggles," he said, "thanks to the influence of purebloods. But they still have those prejudices rather than muggleborn controversy. And the American Ministry is more liberal than Britain's Ministry as far as Dark magic goes; fewer spells, objects, and potions are defined as Dark, and there are only three Dark creatures; Dementors, Lethifolds, and basilisks. All rare in America, of course."

Harry tried to twirl his own wand in imitation of Remus, but failed, nearly dropping it. "So how did you become an Auror?" he asked. "And will you try and enter the Ministry now that you're back in Britain?"

"Well, Fawkes took me to America," Lupin explained. "That's the headmaster's familiar, a phoenix, by the way. So I arrived there immediately, for free, but I wasn't able to take anything with me. I need to find a job. And of course I registered with their Ministry. And I thought 'well, I am qualified', so I asked about the possibility of being hired as an auror. I was hired as a consultant for Dark creatures and became a field specialist a year or so later. I would plan to enter the Ministry here, but… enough about me, Harry. Let's talk about you."

Harry swallowed. He really didn't want to talk about the Dursleys, whom he knew that Remus would turn the conversation to; how could he not, knowing that Harry refused to acknowledge their relationship? "Not much to tell, really," he said, looking away from Remus' eyes. "I was an average student, and did nothing interesting until the letter came."

"Harry." Lupin's tone forced Harry to turn back, the Auror's amber eyes boring into Harry' green ones. "You said that you didn't want to call the Dursleys your relatives. Why? What did they do to you?"

Harry's throat locked up and he hesitated. Sure, the Dursleys had treated him terribly; but Remus had an incredibly _intense_ look on his face, and Harry felt like if he told the Auror what they had done then, he wouldn't tell the Ministry; he would rip them apart with his bare hands. No-one deserved that. Yes, the Dursleys had starved him, isolated him, kept him in a cupboard, verbally abused him, allowed Dudley's and his friends to beat him up, made it clear that they didn't love him, actually _hated_ him, but they hadn't done everything they could've. Vernon had never actually hit… no, he had. They hadn't… well, actually…

Okay, so Harry couldn't think of _anything_ the Dursleys hadn't done to him to hurt him. But he didn't want them _dead._

"Nothing," he said firmly, still unable to look Lupin in the eye. "They just… didn't love me. They didn't hide that, and…"

"Do you have friends back there? From school?"

"…not really. Dudley…"

"Harry." Remus' voice was firm, but kind, drawing Harry's eyes back to his. "Tell me the truth, please."

Harry blinked. "I… I'm getting a headache. May I go see Madam Pomfrey, please?"

Lupin sighed. "You can trust me, Harry. But go ahead."

* * *

The next day, Harry was surprised to find Remus sitting behind Professor Adams' desk. The auror was casually watching the doorway, ticking off something on a piece of paper as each person entered. Adams was nowhere to be seen, but there was a large rattling cage next to the desk, covered with a thick blanket that muffled all noise from within.

"Good morning, Harry," Remus said, nodding to him. "Take a seat, please…"

"Why's Mr. Lupin here?" Ron whispered to Harry as they sat near the rear of the classroom.

"I dunno," Harry whispered back as a Hufflepuff girl sat in front of them.

A few minutes later, the class was full, everyone whispering about the missing professor and his replacement. Remus snapped his fingers, and in a wave from him, people stopped talking and turned to look at him, attentive and looking rather surprised. Harry realized why as soon as the wave reached him and Ron; a tingling sensation went through him, especially around the back of the eyes, making his hair stand on end and forcibly attracting his attention to the front. Shortly afterwards, the wave of magic returned to Lupin, sending shivers up Harry's spine and making Ron sneeze. Remus cocked his head to the side as the magical wave reached him again, and then smiled.

"Good morning." His voice seemed to reverberate, echoing from around the room so that it seemed that his quiet voice came from right behind Harry; and, presumably, everyone else as well. "My name is Remus Lupin. You may have seen me at the Head Table last night. I'm visiting, and the Headmaster kindly arranged for me a give a guest lecture in Defense class. Before we get to the lecture, does anyone have any questions?" Seamus raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Finnegan?"

"Are you a professor too?"

Lupin shook his head. "No, though I've considered it occasionally. I've spent the last ten years or so working as an Auror for the American Ministry of Magic, though, and I do have a Mastery in Defense. Let's see... Miss Brown?"

Lavender Brown blushed. "How did you get the scars?"

Lupin brought his hand up to trace gently over the scars on his cheek. "Good eye, Miss Brown, most people don't notice them from that distance. I had a run-in with a werewolf about five years back; he didn't bite me, but did get a few swipes in. Anyone else? Mr. Finch-Fletchley?"

"How do you know our names, and what was that thing when you snapped his fingers?"

Lupin smiled widely. "That's one of the things I'll be talking about today. Basically it was an attention-getting spell, one that's very useful in Auror work, but I also included an element of information-gathering to snatch your names from the tags on your robes. I don't have time to get to know you normally, so this is faster. Any other questions? No? Then I'll begin.

"Now, you all know that you're here to learn magic. Can anyone tell me exactly what magic _is,_ though?" There were a few murmurs around the room, but no-one raised their hands. "Nothing? Alright then. Magic is many things, because things called magic can be better called differently. I'll make a few distinctions, though; magic is energy, wizards have the ability to use it, and spells are specific ways of focusing that energy.

"In other words, magic itself simply floats around the world; its stronger in some areas than others, of course. It's very strong around Hogwarts, as I'm sure some of you have noticed, and is generally weaker in Muggle cities. But this mostly-random magic doesn't really do anything. It interferes with some Muggle technology, and sometimes affects animals, but a Muggle wouldn't notice it.

"However, a wizard (or a witch) can affect this floating magic. Can anyone tell me how? Mr… Longbottom, why don't you hazard a guess?"

Neville looked around nervously and gulped. "Uh. With our wands?"

Lupin paused for a moment before nodding. "In a way. We do channel the magic through our wands, but it's possible for a skilled wizard to do without for small things; the attention getting spell I started with, for example. A wizard controls magic with his _mind_. The incantation helps focus your thoughts, and the wand motion channels the magic and fixes it into a spell, rather like making music with an instrument. So, what happens when you cast wandlessly? Mr. Weasley, what do you think?"

Ron furrowed his brow. "Um… it's not a spell, is it? It's just the magic?"

"Mr. Weasley is quite right," Remus agreed. "Casting wandlessly means that you can't use a normal spell and have to focus the magic only with your mind. It's more difficult, but you can do things that way even if you don't know a spell for it. But I don't want _any_ of you trying it on your own, understand?" the auror warned. "Wandless magic takes a lot of willpower and experience with normal magic, which you don't have yet." The class nodded, the importance of this being effectively pressed into them by Remus' serious face. After a moment he smiled again. "But let's move on from that for a moment. Given what I've just told you about magic, what else ought to be possible?"

Harry considered this for a moment before raising his hand. "Casting silently?"

"Good, Mr. Potter. It's possible to cast without an incantation by subvocalizing. This also requires willpower and experience, but it's easier than wandless magic, which very few ever master. Silent casting is usually taught in N.E.W.T. level classes."

Remus paused for a moment and took a sip of water. "All right, that's the first of my three topics for you done in good time. The next thing I have for you is about kinds of spells. Who can list the five varieties of spells as defined in the _Standard Book of Spells? _Miss Bones?"

Susan Bones, face surprisingly focused, spoke up. "Jinxes, hexes, curses, charms, and transfigurations."

"Exactly. Does anyone know what the distinctions are? Let's take jinxes, hexes, and curses as a group for a moment. What's the definition of a transfiguration?"

"Something that changes the shape and qualities of an object," Neville said hesitantly.

"Well done, Mr. Longbottom. That's right. I don't think that Professor McGonagall will have gone this far into the theory yet, but a transfiguration doesn't actually change the essential part of an object. If you transform a stone into a loaf of bread, you can't eat it, because it's actually a stone. That's the reason for the Exceptions to Gamp's Principles of Elemental Transfiguration, if any of you have heard of those yet. Now, what's the difference between a hex and a charm? There are some very similar ones, after all. For example, _diffindo_ is a cutting charm, but _scinder_ is a cutting _hex_."

Again, a murmur, and no answer. Harry wracked his brain, but couldn't think of anything beyond uses hexes on people and charms on things.

"No-one? Alright then, I'll tell you. A charm doesn't work on living things, and a jinx or hex won't work on a non-living thing. _Diffindo_ will cut through paper, or even solid steel if you put enough strength into it, but it can't even penetrate skin. _Scinder _will give you a papercut, but won't even slice through a tissue."

Harry smacked his forehead. He had thought that a moment ago, why hadn't he said anything? "Wait, sir!" he called out. "You said that jinxes and hexes don't work on objects. What about curses?"

Lupin sighed. "Curses are stronger than hexes," he said calmly. "They can have an effect on object, though not always the same as it would have on a person. The killing curse, as an example, causes objects, including conjured or transfigured creatures, to dissolve into dust or shatter like glass. Let's move onto the distinction between curses, hexes, and jinxes. We're halfway through with my time, so I'll just tell you.

"A jinx will wear off on its own, usually within an hour but sometimes taking up to a day. For example, the jelly-legs jinx, which wears off after two hours. Also, in general, they're essentially harmless. A hex is usually more harmful, and will take longer to wear off. Sometimes they only wear off because of the body itself; _scinder_, which I mentioned earlier, doesn't wear off until the cut heals on its own. And a curse has the potential to be permanent or fatal."

Remus looked around the room. "Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. Who came name an exception to these definitions?"

Dean Thomas raised a hand. "I heard one of the Weasley twins talking about using a banishing charm on Mrs. Norris."

Lupin nodded. "That's one of them. The banishing charm, which is a fourth year spell, also works on living things, though not as well. Anyone else?" A third time, no-one answered. "Alright, this one is an interesting exception. The bubble-headed charm is one that doesn't work on things at all, only on people."

Neville raised a trembling hand and pointed at the cage, which was rattling very loudly. "Sir, w-what's that?"

Remus glanced at it. "Oh, nothing much," he said casually. "I just caught an acromantula, and I thought you might like to see."

At once, everyone but Harry and the muggleborns scooted backwards in their desks, trying to get away from the cage. "Professor," asked Harry, "what's an acromantula?"

"I'm not a professor, Mr. Potter," Lupin said calmly, unsurprised by the class's reaction to his announcement. "And an acromantula is a kind of magical spider. They live up to fifty or sixty years and keep growing the whole time. There's a nest out in the forest, and I caught a little one, only about… oh, the size of three dinner plates laid end to end?"

Ron gulped. "That's a _little_ one?" he asked.

Remus nodded. "Hagrid tells me that the king of the hive out there is closer to the size of an elephant. This one is maybe a year or two old. Don't worry, the cage is quite secure."

Ron stood from out of his desk and marched all the way to the back of the room. "No offense, sir," he called. "I don't like big spiders."

"Quite understandable," Lupin said agreeably, and flicked his wand, vanishing the blanket and revealing the spider.

It was at least three feet with its legs spread-eagled, and was slavering as it strained at the cage. With the muffling blanket gone they could hear its pincers clicking together as it gripped the bars in two legs and tried to pull them apart. Ron promptly fainted dead away.

"The reason I have this little beastie for you," Lupin called over the spider's clicking, "is to demonstrate a spell that a wizard should know by the time they graduate. It's not easy and takes a good bit out of you, but it will take down any living creature in a single shot. It's illegal to use on a person, but casting it on an animal, while frowned upon, is allowed. You shouldn't use it unless you have no other recourse," Remus warned the class. "If you think you can take down a creature alive in any other fashion, you should. In ten years of hunting down dangerous magical creatures in America, I've only had to use it twice."

The class was incredibly attentive (except for Ron), leaning in to watch as Lupin turned towards the acromantula. The auror shifted his stance slightly, flicked his wand thrice, brought it down toward the beast, and spoke two words.

"_Avada Kedavra."_


	14. Chapter 14: Death

_The class was incredibly attentive (except for Ron), leaning in to watch as Lupin turned towards the acromantula. The auror shifted his stance slightly, flicked his wand thrice, brought it down toward the beast, and spoke two words._

"_Avada Kedavra."_

* * *

A flash of green and most of the class gasped, whether in surprise or amazement Harry couldn't tell. He didn't even pay attention to the acromantula, which had instantly collapsed limply. The green light was intensely familiar, and reminded him of something… images came surging forward from the back of his mind, overcoming what Professor Lupin was saying as he turned to face the class once again.

* * *

Harry glanced around the room he had suddenly found himself in. There was a small bed, a little toy broom in the corner, stuffed animals lay strewn about, and it had an incredibly comforting feeling. And standing next to the bed was his mother. She looked beautiful, Harry thought; her long red hair flowed down her back, and the simple muggle clothing she wore was paint-spattered, but it still looked perfect on her.

"Lily, where's Harry?" His father entered from the hallway outside the room; he looked good too, jet-black hair and bright hazel eyes, with a roguish grin across his face even now.

"He's hiding from me under the bed; he doesn't want to go to sleep. Can you help me get him out?"

"Of course, dear. Harry! Harry my boy, don't listen to your mother. Come to me, I'll help you fly your little broom."

A small boy, no older than one or two, scrambled out from under the bed towards Harry; no, towards James behind him. Harry felt a pang of sadness as he saw the smile across his younger self's face. As the boy left the safety of the bed, Lily's arms snatched him up and dropped him in the bed.

"No!" the young Harry yelped. "No sleepy! Fly!"

James chuckled, coming to stand with Lily over the little boy. "Sorry, kid, your mother has spoken. Bedtime."

Lily smiled. "Now then, what story do you want to hear tonight? How about…"

Suddenly, there was a crash and an enormous bang from downstairs, and James's head snapped around. "He's here," he whispered.

"But how?" Lily cried. "James, what about the Fidelius–"

"Treachery," James growled. "Take Harry and run, my love, I'll hold him off." And before she could respond, the black-haired man had whipped out his wand and rushed downstairs.

Lily bent over young Harry, tears beginning to leak from her eyes, as the sounds of magical battle began to come from downstairs. "Damn that–" she snarled. Harry tried to hear the name she hissed, but couldn't make it out, as a huge blast and roar came from downstairs. "I knew we shouldn't have done the s–" another blast and roar, and a large chunk of the roof came flying off, crashing down into the yard. A moment later, a scream came from downstairs, and Lily raised her head.

"James," she whispered, tears still streaming down her face, and rushed downstairs. Harry followed, somehow feeling that he had no control over what was happening or what he was doing, and didn't notice his younger self escaping from bed to follow with wide eyes.

The ground floor was completely destroyed, and James lay against the wall, missing most of his stomach and both legs. The bottom of his body appeared to have been reduced to ashes below him, and his wand lay limply in his fingers. Lily gave an agonized scream and raised her wand at the figure who stood in the middle of the room.

Voldemort was surprisingly human-looking; somehow, Harry had imagined a far more hideous form for him, more snakelike. The Dark Lord, though, was merely a tall, handsome man, with thin features and a pleased smile on his face, and his robes were basic black Hogwarts-style robes with green trim. He looked more like a young man who had just gotten into college than a mass murderer. But his eyes… they were simply _wrong_. Out of place, inhuman… Harry couldn't really describe the feeling he got from them. They were pale violet, but instead of black pupils they had an evil red glow from within.

Voldemort easily batted aside Lily's first spell, a bright orange burst of fire, and said in a smooth and oily voice, "You don't have to die, girl. You are quite talented; you could join me instead."

Lily shivered at the sound of the Dark Lord's voice and tried again, a thin beam of green light that disintegrated the chair Voldemort deflected it into. "I'll never join you," she swore. "Never!"

"You still do not need to die," Voldemort said calmly, disarming her with no apparent effort. "All I want is the boy. Allow me him, and you may take your dying husband to St. Mungo's and flee the country. I bear no ill will to you."

"Mummy!" said the young Harry from near the stairs, causing Lily to freeze in place. "You make mess!"

Lily dove for Harry, knocking him out of the way of a blast of flames. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead…" Lily sobbed, still clutching onto the young Harry's confused form. "Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy..."

Voldemort laughed, a disturbingly pleasant sound that rang in Harry's ears. "Foolish woman. I truly would have spared you, but you clearly will not see sense. _Avada Kedavra_." Lily screamed as the green light flashed again, and then she was still.

"…no…" James whispered from the wall.

"Still alive?" Voldemort asked, glancing at him. "I think I will allow you to bleed out. It will be fitting; you've just seen me kill your wife, I will kill your child too, and then you can simply contemplate your failure. Yes…" he mused. "Perfect." The Dark Lord turned back to Harry and raised his wand.

"…my wife…" James murmured. "…you _bastard."_

"Yes, yes," Voldemort said absently.

"_Ignis._"James whispered, causing Voldemort to stiffen and turn to face him as he flicked his wand in a compass shape._ "Fotia. Kasai. Huǒ."_

"You idiot!" Voldemort shouted, turning his wand towards James's prone form. "Even I would not use Fiend–"

"_Fire._" James finished, causing bright red flames to shoot from his wand toward Voldemort, taking the shape of butterflies and miniature dragons as they moved. "Burn, you bastard."

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ Voldemort shouted as he dived away from the flames, and with another flash of green light James was still and the flames died away.

Voldemort stood and dusted himself off. "Fiendfyre," he muttered to himself. "Lord, what fools these mortals be." He turned back to the young Harry, who was trying to cower away from him against the stairs. "Now then. One last time." He flicked his wand three times, up, down, sideways, and…

The flash of green light faded away to show a glowing green humanoid; it looked like the young boy had been replaced with the light. It slowly faded away from most of his body as Voldemort looked on with fascination and the boy screamed, seeming to collect at Harry's forehead. A moment later, green light flashed again, and Voldemort fell to the ground as Harry collapsed, unconscious.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and saw blur with a glint in the distance. _The snitch!_ He thought, and reached out to grab it.

He grabbed the glint, but it didn't feel like a snitch. It felt like… oh.

Harry put on his glasses, blinked, and looked around. He was in the Hospital wing, probably still the same day he got in considering that he was still wearing the same robes as earlier. Remus Lupin was sitting in a chair next to him, dozing.

"Remus!" he cried, waking the auror up. "What happened!"

Lupin blinked a few times, waking up. "Oh, you're awake. Good. Madam Pomfrey didn't think that it would be permanent, but–"

"Didn't think _what_ would be permanent?"

Lupin shrugged. "I didn't understand most of it myself. But it seems that my casting of the Killing Curse caused you to enter a memory; probably the memory of your parents death. I'm very, _very_ sorry about that."

Harry shivered, remembering the handsome figure in the dark robes. "Yeah," he agreed. "But it was weird. I wasn't seeing it from my body, I was watching as though I was in my own… if that makes sense."

Remus nodded. "I think I understand," he said. "There is a device called a Pensieve which allows a wizard to enter a memory in a similar fashion to what you're describing. I suppose your internal magic warped how you saw the memory, probably because your body back then was so different."

Harry sighed. "Okay, so I went into some coma-thing and remembered the night Voldemort was defeated. It's already fading, though. But… what happened here?"

"You just went sort of… stiff," Lupin said quietly. "I had your friend Mr. Weasley take you to the Hospital wing, and finished my lecture."

"Can I hear it?"

Lupin shook his head. "We don't have time. The rest of it wasn't very interesting anyway; it was just how the curse works, then I told the class that it was taught in seventh year Defense. Nothing much."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "How _does_ it work?" he asked. "It seems like it's just a flash of light and boom. Dead."

Lupin nodded in agreement. "That's what it seems like, but it's more complicated than that. It really just makes your brain stop working. Some people are dramatic and think that it severs the soul from the body or some such nonsense, but no, it just shuts down the brain. No pain, no nothing, just green light for a moment before you die."

"Can it be blocked, or dodged?" Harry asked.

"Not blocked, no. Well, not really. It goes right through any magical shield. Physical shields shatter like glass or burn up. But it can be dodged; the spell is like lightning, you see, very fast and bright, which is why you see just green light when its cast. But it _is_ a beam, and it can be dodged if you move before the incantation finishes."

Harry swallowed. "And it bounced off of me," he whispered. "Why?"

Lupin closed his eyes with a sigh. "I don't know," he said. "There are only two people who know exactly what happened that night, and you're one of them. Voldemort–"

"–is the other," Harry finished. Then he frowned. "Well… is there any way to show what I saw?" he asked. "Like that pensieve thing you mentioned, is there a way for me to give my memory?"

Lupin nodded. "Yes, the spell for memory giving isn't hard. I think that perhaps you should, so that the Headmaster can see." Harry yawned. "But later, perhaps. I'll mention it to Albus before I leave, and he'll teach you the spell."

"Good-bye, Mr. Lupin," Harry said, lying down and yawning again. "Write me soon, okay?"

"Remus, Harry," the scarred auror corrected gently. "And I will."

* * *

Some time later, Harry woke again, and found that the Headmaster was sitting in the chair next to his bed.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said with a benevolent smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Professor," Harry said respectfully. "How long have I been here?"

"It is November 1st, the morning after Halloween," Dumbledore told him. "You're excused from morning classes today, but you should be able to return for Charms this afternoon."

"Oh, good, I won't miss much," Harry said, relaxing. "So…"

"Remus suggested that, rather than having you tell me what you remembered, I simply teach you the spell to extract a memory," Dumbledore said. "It's simple. Take your wand, it's on the table next to you…" As Harry reached out and grasped the slim rod of wood, Dumbledore waved his own wand and a wide stone basin floated up. "This is a Pensieve, which I will use to view your memory. So, extract it; the spell is _Duramemor_, and must be spoken while your wand is touching your forehead and you are concentrating on a memory. Like so." Dumbledore tapped his forehead and said "_Duramemor," _and as he drew the wand away from his head a silvery string of gassy stuff followed. He deposited the memory in the pensieve, then looked expectantly at Harry.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. "Let's see…duramemer. No, no… duramimor?"

"_Duramemor,_" Dumbledore repeated, speaking slowly and clearly. "It's derived from a Gujaratian word, rather than the Atlantean most of our spells are from, and…" The old man coughed. "But perhaps this is not the time. _Duramemor,_ Harry."

"_Duramemor,"_ Harry said, thinking of his strange experience, and slowly drew his wand away from his forehead. The silvery thread looked somehow heavier than Dumbledore's strand, and moved sluggishly as he dropped it into the pensieve.

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile, and leaned forward so that the tip of his long, crooked nose touched the silver memories, and he went still. Harry stiffened for a moment, afraid that he was dead, but no; the Headmaster's body was rising up and down slowly, as he breathed. Harry would just have to wait.

After about half an hour, Dumbledore seemed to rouse himself and sat up straight, setting the basin of thoughts aside. "Well," he said, heavily. "I am very sorry that you had to see that, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't really that bad, not while I was watching," he said truthfully. "I couldn't seem to think properly, I was just watching. And I suppose it's not like I really knew my parents," he said bitterly. "But…"

"But?"

"But why was Voldemort trying to spare Mum?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, apparently making a difficult decision, but shook his head. "There is a good reason for that, but it is not my secret to give. I think, though, that it was his undoing," he said thoughtfully. "It seems that your mother, when she chose to die for you instead of fleeing and living, created a protection on your that Voldemort could not breach. A powerful sort of blood ward, tied to her family. Interesting. Very much so…"

Harry waited, but the Headmaster didn't seem inclined to speak anymore, just sitting next to Harry and staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. After a few minutes, the old man shook himself back to reality. "Ah well. I cannot wait around here all day, hmm? Good day, Harry."

"Good bye, Headmaster."


	15. Chapter 15: The Dog with Three Heads

Time rolled on as October rolled into November. Remus Lupin began staying in the Three Broomsticks down in Hogsmeade, coming up to Hogwarts every weekend to talk with Harry. At first their talks were nearly arguments, Harry trying to keep the subject on his father while Lupin tried to get Harry to talk about his life with the Dursleys. But after a while the subject inevitably turned to the world, and before long they mostly consisted of Remus telling Harry about the wizarding world.

Of course, Harry also continued to write to Molly Weasley and to take lessons from Draco. But between talking with Remus, Quidditch practice, and the increasing loads of homework, he barely had any time to relax. Hermione had lent him a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages _to try and relax him for the first match of the season, which was coming up fast, but Harry had no time to read it.

It was Friday, the night before the first Quidditch game of the season, that Harry was called down to the pitch for his detention with Madam Hooch. When he got down there, he found that Draco had already arrived for his own detention, but the stern Quidditch referee was nowhere to be found.

"Do you know where Madam Hooch is?" Harry asked Draco.

The blonde shook his head. "No idea. I don't even know what we'll be doing for detention."

"Probably picking twigs from the school brooms," Harry said miserably. "Broom upkeep, the worst part of flying."

Draco shrugged. "I have elves for that."

Harry continued to chat about meaningless thing with Draco while they waited. But half an hour passed, then an hour, and before long darkness began to fall.

Draco slipped out his wand and sketched a quick circle in the air, marking out the top, bottom, and sides of it as he said "_Tempu. Doce, tres, sies, nueve._" A clock of blue light sprouted into existence. It was only twenty minutes before curfew. "If I'm to get back to the Common Room before curfew, I should leave now," he said, rather annoyed. "Why hasn't Hooch gotten here yet?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't complain," he recommended. "We came for our detention at the normal time, and we waited for the professor. It's not our fault she didn't come, so I think that means the detention counts as being served. No twig-picking for us."

Draco shrugged. "You're probably right. I'll see you in Transfiguration on Sunday, then."

"Not coming to watch me tomorrow?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "My father is coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow to talk to me. Professor Adams is escorting me there."

Harry nodded before remembering something from Halloween. "Wait – on Halloween, after the troll, Professor Snape said… what was his phrase? Oh yeah, 'the guardian of a child is not permitted to visit.' How's your dad allowed to come?"

"Not permitted to visit the _castle,"_ Draco clarified. "Coming to Hogsmeade is allowed, and you can make arrangements for people to be brought out of the castle when it's not a Hogsmeade weekend. Even underage kids. And my father is on the board of governors anyway, so he could visit if he wanted and talk to me incidentally. But why did Uncle Severus say that to you?"

"Mr. Lupin, remember?" Harry asked. "He gave a lecture in defense class?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"He was a friend of my dad's. He actually came to talk with me, but Dumbledore had him give the lectures so that the 'no visits' rule didn't apply."

"Oh. Well, see you on Monday, then."

Harry gave Draco a cheery wave as they parted, the Slytherin going down a stairwell that was behind a tapestry of Herpo the Foul. Harry instead went up the main stairs.

As he turned the corner and began to climb up the stairs, he saw a quartet of first-years coming down that he easily recognized.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Ron? Ginny? Hermione? Neville? Why are you coming down so late? It's almost curfew."

"We were worried that you were going to be kept out after curfew," Hermione said. "What did Madam Hooch have you _doing_ for an hour and a half?"

Harry shook his head. "She didn't show up. I don't know why."

Ron looked thoughtful as Neville spoke up. "Lucky break for you."

"Well, he did have to spend an hour and a half with Malfoy," Ginny quipped.

Ron frowned. "That's really strange," he commented. "But… earlier, I saw two people going into the forest, and now that I think about it, one of them had white hair just like Hooch's."

"Well, that's not suspicious at all," Harry commented sarcastically. "What did the other person look like?"

"I couldn't tell," Ron said, seeming rather irked. "He had his hood up all the way."

Neville shrugged. "It's probably nothing. But we should get back up to the Tower, it's almost nine-fifty. Well, towers."

Hermione looked almost panicked. "Oh no, we'll be late! It's a fifteen minute trip!" And she promptly ran up the stairs.

"Hermione, wait!" Ginny cried, running after her, and the boys followed.

* * *

They followed Hermione as she ran, but it was clear to Harry that, in her rush to return to Ravenclaw Tower, she had taken at least one wrong turn and gotten lost. It was also clear to Ginny, who was calling for the brunette to stop so they could backtrack.

Harry glanced around as the finally slowed. He recognized this area. "I know how to get us all back to the Towers!" he said brightly. "It'll only take two or three minutes, too. We're on the third floor, and–"

"Hold on a moment," Hermione interrupted. "I'm pretty sure that I remember a shortcut that one of the sixth years showed me, it's right over here…"

Ron raised his head from where he had been leaning it on the wall. "I think I hear something," he whispered, and sure enough, a moment later…

"Where are they, my dear?" Filtch's voice echoed from around the corner. "It's curfew, my pet. Where are they?"

Ginny gasped. "Uh oh. We need to get moving." She glanced over at Hermione, who was tugging fruitlessly at a door. "Hermione, what is the _problem?_"

The brunette growled. "The door is locked. She didn't tell me that it locked after curfew!"

Ginny furrowed her brow. "Then just use that spell we found in the library, the one that unlocks doors. What was it again? Alohomara?"

Hermione shook her head. "That wasn't it, it was… _alohomora!_"

The door clicked, and they all rushed through it. "Phew!" Neville said, wiping some sweat from his forehead. "That was a close one. And now Filch will assume that this door is locked."

They listen as Filch approached from the other side, and indeed, he scolded Mrs. Norris for leading him to a locked door and left.

"Oh good," Harry said, wiping sweat from his head. "Now we can do _my_ shortcut, because I remember where is it, and…" he paused to wipe more sweat. "And why am I sweating so much?"

As one, the quintet glanced up to see the head of an enormous dog above them, drooling on Harry. There were apparently two other dogs there too, dripping on Neville and Ginny, and a low rumbling began to build in the throats of all three of them.

"AAAHHHHH!" the group screamed in unison, and ran from the room.

* * *

This time Harry took the lead as they ran, and brought them all to the seventh floor corridor that could lead anywhere. He paused. "The entrance to Ravenclaw is below this floor, right?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "What floor is this?"

"Seven."

"Then yes."

"Alright," Harry said. "Just walk back and forth three times, thinking of a stretch of corridor. A slide will open up to there."

Ginny paced, and grinned after a moment as a door sprouted into existence. "Cool."

Hermione paused, grabbing Ginny's shoulder before she could leap onto the slide. "Wait. Did everyone see what those dogs were standing on?"

"Dog."

"What?" asked Hermione.

"It was just one dog," Neville said. "The necks all led together. Like Kamno, but with three heads. What were they called again?"

"Cerberi," Ginny said. "Just one is called a cerberus. What was it standing on?"

"A trapdoor," Hermione said triumphantly. "There was a trapdoor underneath it."

"That was the third floor corridor, you know," Ron said suddenly. "I bet that it was the one on the right-hand side. The one that Dumbledore said we couldn't go in. Now we know why. Because there's a big ol' Cerberus behind it."

"And it's guarding something," Harry agreed. After a moment of silence, a thought struck him. "I bet it's whatever Hagrid was picking up!"

Neville raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Hagrid was in Gringotts on my birthday," Harry explained. "He was picking up something from vault – uh, I don't remember which one, but it's the vault that was robbed later that day. I think that whatever he took is under that trapdoor!"

Ginny yawned. "This is very interesting, but can we talk about it later? Like, after your thing tomorrow?"

Ron nodded. "I'm curious about what's under there, but it's not like someone is trying to steal it, right?"

* * *

The next morning, Harry had trouble eating. He was too nervous; he had been doing fine in his practices until now, but it was hard to be confident when the whole school would soon be watching him. Lots of people dropped by to give him words of advice during breakfast, but not all of them were friendly; Harry wasn't sure whether he was more annoyed by the people who told him he'd do fine or the ones who promised to carry a mattress underneath him.

Harry managed to down a few slices of toast, but no more, and before long he was changing into the crimson Quidditch robes he had bought by owl-order. He was waiting to step onto the field from the locker rooms when the captain, Oliver Wood, cleared his throat for attention.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," added one of the chasers Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "It's always the same.

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it." He glared at them all as if to say, 'or else.' "Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

As the team lined up to step out of the locker rooms, Harry glanced down at the broom he held in his hand, the one that Ron had recommended. It had arrived from Diagon Alley only a few days ago, but seemed perfect to Harry. It had been expensive of course, taking a good deal of Harry's trust vault, but there was still more than enough for the rest of his time in school. Besides, as Ron said, better to get a good broom that would last than a flashy one that would have to be replaced every year.

So Harry had purchased a broom made by a muggleborn who was new to the industry but, according to Ron, showed promise. The broom was simple in design, mahogany with yew for the twigs, and was enchanted with mostly the basics, nothing flashy like self-braking charms or parachute charms. It could apparently accelerate as fast as any broom currently on the market, and turned even better than the latest broom, the Nimbus 2000. It _did_ have a tendency to go backwards while resting in place, but that was something that Harry didn't plan on doing anyway.

Holding his Cruinneas proudly by his side, Harry stepped outside.

* * *

The team was just coming out of the locker room when Oliver stopped them. "There's been a slight problem," he told them. "Madam Hooch is apparently missing. Dumbledore was going to cancel the game, but Professor Adams volunteered to referee. Did _you_ know he played Quidditch for America for a year or so?"

Fred grinned. "A professional player for a referee? Right on!"

Alicia Spinnet cocked her head to the side curiously. "Why did he quit?"

Wood shrugged. "I think there was some sort of dark lord in America and he joined up with the Aurors to help stop him, and just never left. I'm not entirely sure."

"Okay," said George, "so we've got a missing ref and a good replacement. Let's get playing!"


	16. Chapter 16: Quidditch

"_Okay, so we've got a missing ref and a good replacement. Let's get playing!"_

* * *

Professor Adams was standing in the middle of the field waiting for the team as they tramped out of the locker rooms, accompanied by loud cheers from the part of the audience wearing red. He still wore his dark cloak, hood pulled over his eyes, somehow hovering easily on his broomstick nonetheless. Harry cocked his head to the side, trying to see under the hood that the professor never seemed to pull down, but all he could see were the man's icy blue eyes glinting.

The Slytherin team was already waiting on the other side of the central circle, broomsticks in hand. Harry tried to size them up with the analytical eye that Ron could call up so easily, but failed; it did seem, though, that they players were picked with an eye towards size, not skill. The seeker, a fifth year who Harry was pretty sure was named Brant, was the only player below six feet, and not far below at that.

"You'll have the advantage there," Oliver muttered to Harry. "Not only do you have a better broom, you're smaller, too. Their seeker is new this year, so I don't know how he compares to you as far as skill goes, but I think you'll be fine."

Harry nodded, gulping, and Oliver clapped him on the shoulder and went up to shake hands.

"I want a clean game, both of you," Professor Adams said calmly, watching Oliver and the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, shake hands. "No foals, no cheating, no magic except in self-defense. Is that well understood by _both of you?_"

Oliver nodded; Flint grunted. Adams shrugged and flicked his hand at the trunk containing the balls, letting it spring open and sending the bludgers out near the goalposts. The snitch hovered in place for a moment before flying upwards.

Harry tried to follow the snitch's path with his eyes, but it shimmered into invisibility as it sailed away. That was right, he remembered; the snitch Disillusioned itself for ten seconds at the beginning of a match, because of a string of games in which a clever Seeker had been able to catch the snitch within thirty seconds of leaving the ground, ten games in a row.

Harry was shaken out of his train of thought by Professor Adams blowing the whistle to kick off from the ground.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. Harry tuned this out quickly as he sailed up from the ground, scanning the stands. Perhaps two-thirds of the school was supporting Gryffindor, and was wearing red scarves or hats. The rest of the spectators were decked out in Slytherin green. Harry spotted his friends sitting near the top of the red stands; Ron and Neville were each holding a corner of a large banner that said "Potter is our King", while Ginny and Hermione levitated what looked like small rocks attached to the other two corners.

Harry absently rolled out of the way of a bludger and reminded himself to search for the snitch. Moments later, the Slytherin Seeker began to dive.

* * *

Harry saw the green-robed boy begin to drop and instinctively followed, eyes scanning the ground for a glint of gold. He couldn't see it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.

But as Harry got closer to Brant, he noticed something… strange. The Slytherin didn't look the way someone diving for the snitch really should, Harry felt. His expression, though focused, didn't seem to be focused on a small glint of gold near the ground, like it should. No, it was more like… like he wanted to pull up at just the right time.

Oops.

Harry peeled out of the dive, and Jordan shouted out, "It looks like Potter thinks that Brant is only feinting! Let's see if it's a bluff or not… yup, he's pulling up too. He seems kind of disappointed. You can't fool a Gryffindor, you slimy snake!"

Harry grinned and pumped his fist in victory, then decided to try a trick of his own. He narrowed his eyes, gasped, and accelerated towards the goal posts on the opposite side of the field. Brant followed, and Harry grinned inwardly as he kept his eyes focused on an area just to the left of Oliver Wood's arm.

Harry twisted his head as though following a snitch's erratic pattern, then began to dive. Brant, behind him, fell into a shallower dive, but Harry was grinning now. He had successfully side-tracked the Slytherin Seeker, and there was a flash of gold from the other side of the pitch.

Harry was halfway across when his broomstick bucked, twitched… and began to fall.

* * *

Hermione was beginning to get bored, and hoped that the game was over soon. Quidditch didn't make sense to her; why gather around to watch people fling balls at each other while two people compete to catch a giant yellow mosquito? Really, she was only here to support Harry. Ginny had come for the same reason, although it seemed to Hermione that she was a little bit more enthusiastic about it.

Really, she had thought that the redhead was over her crush already, but apparently not fully. At least it hadn't kept her from talking to Harry; seeing that he was, well, ordinary had probably helped more than watching in silence would've. And if she did still like Harry, that was probably more for who he was than for the Boy-Who-Lived now.

Ron, meanwhile, was still entirely oblivious to the opposite sex, as were Neville and Harry. All nice boys, but still far too immature. But it was too early for that, Hermione forcefully reminded herself. Daddy had told her none of that until she was at least fourteen. Two more years.

Hermione watched impassively as Harry apparently fooled the Slytherin Seeker, what's-his-name, into diving away from the snitch. As he set out across the pitch, though, she noticed something off. He was still moving, but down, and beginning to tip downwards.

"Does something seem wrong about Harry to you?" Hermione asked, nearly shouting over the roar of the crowd and Lee's magically enhanced commentary.

Ron squinted. "He's going down, but…" he stared. "He's falling!"

"_What?_" Ginny yelped, snatching the binoculars a Ravenclaw next to her was using and peering through them. A moment later, she gasped. "He _is!_ Someone's broken his broom!"

"It's experimental," Neville pointed out, clearly nervous. "Professor Adams will probably notice soon, though; it's dropping slowly. Bucking a bit, but Harry can handle it."

"No, someone must be jinxing it," Ginny said firmly. She glanced around the stands with the 'borrowed' binoculars, and after a moment the redhead _growled_. "It's Snape!" she snarled. "He's doing it!"

"Don't be silly, sis, he loves Harry," Ron said, looking at the Professor's box. "See, he's just watching him, not paying attention to anyone else."

Something about this seemed wrong to Hermione, so she grabbed the binoculars from Ginny and looked at the Potions Master. He was sitting rigidly in his chair, staring directly at Harry, and not blinking at all. His lips moved slowly as he silently said something, over and over again, the same thing each time. Hermione wished she could read lips…

"I think he's casting some sort of spell on Harry," Hermione said as Harry came ever closer to the ground. "There's nothing I know of that's cast like that, but it must be something."

Ron shook his head again. "Like I said, he loves Harry. If anything, he's probably trying to stop Harry's fall."

"Then who else could be doing it?" Ginny asked angrily. "Tell me that! None of the students could possibly affect a broomstick, and he's the only professor with a criminal record!"

Ron blinked. "What?"

"I'll tell you about it once Harry is safe, Ron," Ginny snapped. "For now, just know that he was a Death Eater."

* * *

Harry managed to pull his broom into a loose spiral as it continued to drop. Fortunately it was going slowly, but at any moment the flight charm might fail entirely. The game had pretty much stopped as more and more people became aware of his predicament; Professor Adams was hovering beneath him worriedly, not even blinking as he watched. Fred and George were flying at his sides, ready to catch him if needed.

"We can replay the game, right?" Harry asked.

Fred shrugged. "I don't know. It depends on whether your broom is being jinxed or if the charms are just failing. And–"

Fred was interrupted by Harry's broom suddenly doing a complete 180 and shooting off downwards. Moments later, the flight charm failed entirely and he fell.

"HARRY!" Fred and George shouted in unison, diving towards him. Before they reached him, though, Professor Adams had swooped in and caught him in both arms, flying to the ground by his knees.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said a little shakily, clinging to him. He blinked. There was something glittering in front of him, but his glasses had fallen off and he couldn't tell what it was. He reached out to smack it out of the way, but realized…

"The snitch!" he shouted, waving it triumphantly.

* * *

Some time later…

"So we _are_ replaying the game?" Harry asked Oliver Wood as the Quidditch Captain walked him back to Gryffindor Tower.

Oliver nodded. "You had fallen off of your broom, and the seeker has to be on his own broom for a catch to count, not someone else's. I'm more worried that it's only two weeks away and now Slytherin knows our strategies."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "I was watching the chasers. We were flattening them without even breaking out our best stuff. See, _I'm_ worried that I'll have to get a new broom."

"Professor Flitwick and Professor Adams are taking a look at your old one," Oliver reminded him. "If it was a jinx, they'll be able to protect it, and otherwise, well... you're the Boy-Who-Lived, you can probably get a refund for a faulty broom."

"True, but– Hermione? Ginny?" The Ravenclaw girls were leaning on the wall across from the portrait of the Fat Lady, talking quietly to each other. "What is it?"

"We're worried about you, Harry," Ginny said, looking up. "And there's something we need to tell you that you won't like."

Harry cocked his head as Oliver clapped him on the shoulder and went into the Tower. "About my broom, right? I _am_ fine, really, Madam Pomfrey spent an hour checking me…"

"Yes, about your broom" Hermione broke in. "We think that it was being jinxed, and… we think that Professor Snape was doing it."

Harry stared for a moment before starting to laugh.

"Harry!" Ginny scolded him. "We're serious!"

Harry managed to catch his breath and gasp out "Professor Snape? You think _he _jinxed me? Girls, I'm the only student in all of Gryffindor and most of the rest of the school too that he doesn't hate."

Ginny scowled. "Yes, we're all aware of that. But there's some things about him that you probably don't know."

"Like his history as a Death Eater," Hermione agreed, and Harry immediately sobered. "Ginny knows more about it that I do…"

"He's an admitted Death Eater," Ginny said. "For about three years, apparently. In the last year of the War he turned traitor and helped Dumbledore. Apparently he saved a few lives, and after the War ended he named names. Low-ranking Death Eaters only, but along with being vouched for by the Headmaster, it got him cleared. That's all a matter of public record."

"Okay…" Harry said slowly. "So… you think he wants to kill me as revenge?"

Hermione nodded. "He's the only person we can think of who has a motive. And…" she described how he had been staring at Harry without blinking and had been moving his lips.

"Then why didn't he kill me one of the many times I've been alone with him in his office?" Harry asked. "Really, just about anyone in the castle could have a motive. Maybe Professor McGonagall was a deep-cover spy for the Death Eaters. Maybe Professor Adams was possessed during that year he spent off in Albania or wherever. Maybe Hagrid wants to feed my corpse to his dog."

Ginny smacked herself in the forehead. "And that's something I've been meaning to do," she muttered. "Ask Hagrid about cerberi."

"Why not Neville?" Hermione asked. "He's got Kamno."

"Yeah, but orthrusi and cerberi aren't the same thing at all," Ginny pointed out. "I don't know a huge amount about either, but the myths said that Orthrus was a cattle dog and was slain by Heracles–"

"Hercules," corrected Hermione.

"No, Heracles," Ginny said, seeming annoyed. "It means 'for the glory of Hera'. Hercules is the Roman version, and the Roman myths are mixed up with all sorts of different stuff. Anyway, Heracles killed Orthrus. But Cerberus was a guard dog and was immortal and indestructible. If I remember correctly, Heracles couldn't overpower him, and ended up negotiating with Hades to bring him to the surface and back alive instead of dead; to show the king he was performing twelve labors for, you know."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "That seems to imply that cerberi are more powerful than orthusi," she commented. "I wonder how Professor Snape wants to get past him."

"What?" Harry said, shocked again. "Where are you getting these crazy ideas?"

"She's been going on about this in Ravenclaw Tower ever since Halloween," Ginny complained. "She noticed that Snape wasn't there at the Halloween Feast, and the next morning he seemed to have a bad leg; you were asleep then. He was better by dinnertime, but she's convinced he let the troll in as a distraction and tried to get past the cerberus and was bitten. Personally, I think that he as probably harvesting potions supplies and was bitten by a plant. She's crazy, I tell you!"

Harry yawned as Hermione began protesting. "Girls, listen, it's late, and I just want to go to bed right now. Can we talk about this stuff tomorrow? Breakfast, okay? You can tell Ron and Neville then, too."

"They know we think that Snape was jinxing you," Ginny told him. "But yeah, they don't know about Hermione's crazy theory."

"Tomorrow, then," Hermione said, rather disgruntled.

"Tomorrow," Harry agreed, and turned to go assure his other friends that he was okay.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not particularly happy with this chapter, and it may end up very different in a few days after I hear back from my beta. If that does happen, I'll delete the chapter and replace it so you'll know that it did happen. Also, I am looking for a new beta, as my current one is having difficulties keeping up with my weekly schedule.  
**


	17. Chapter 17: A Departure

**A/N: My beta and I have unfortunately had to part ways, as he currently can't keep up with my update schedule. I'll post my chapters un-beta'd until I get a new one, and until then they'll also be just whenever I finish them, rather than on Saturdays. If any of you can beta for me and get chapters back in a day or so, please please _please_ contact me via PM (not by a review; I try to read all of them, but they won't necessarily get through to me).  
**

**A thank you to my wonderful reviewers, and to address a recent concern; Ginny is not smarter than Hermione. Reading through my chapters again has made me see that it might be seen that way, but it isn't. Ginny is smart, but she's better with old myths and magical creatures, whereas Hermione is an all-around genius. I'll try to make this more clear in the future.**

* * *

As the year marched on, snow began to fall. One morning in early December, Harry was informed that Herbology was canceled due to heavy snow. A quick peek out a window confirmed that yes, there was a full foot on snow on the ground and it was still coming down. Hermione dragged the group to the library to look up the plants they would have been doing that day (Ratataffle Roots), but Harry noticed that Ron had a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ hidden in the textbook. Neville was earnestly telling Hermione about how the Roots ate burrowing creatures, while Ginny was doodling something on a spare piece of parchment. It looked pretty good, but Harry couldn't tell what it was yet; it seemed to be shrouded in some sort of smoke that obscured the creature. She didn't actually seem to be paying attention to what she was doing, and seemed rather bored.

"Hey," he said, poking the redheaded girl. "What're you drawing?"

Ginny spun the parchment around to show him the chimera she was drawing; the dragon head was belching smoke that wreathed it. It was incredibly realistic, and Harry was quite impressed. "I do this a lot," she said. "In all my classes."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "If they're all as good as this, I want to see the others, then."

"Later, maybe. I'm trying to stop; I keep having to ask Hermione for help, and she's kind of…"

"Overbearing?"

Ginny nodded. "No offense to either of them, of course, but I get that enough from Mum. She'll probably want to know why I'm not doing better over Christmas break, too," she said morosely. "'Ginny, why did you only get an A in Transfiguration?' She always pushes me to do well, but Ron gets a free pass."

Harry furrowed his brow, confused. "An A? _Only_ an A? There's something higher?"

"A is for Acceptable, E is above that and is Exceeds Expectations, O is Outstanding," Ginny explained. "Those are the only passing grades, and are for midterms and finals, as opposed to the percentage thing we do normally. Do muggles have a different system?"

Harry nodded. "A is the best grade, and it gets lower as you go down the alphabet," he said. "I guess that the wizarding world and the muggle world aren't as close as I thought."

Ginny gaped. "You still thought that they were similar? After spending three months, you still thought that the worlds are basically the same?" She struggled to stifle a laugh. "Harry, they do look similar at first glance, but the two worlds are very different. You should ask Malfoy to tell you about that stuff, though; I hear that his dad gave him lessons on the differences between muggles and wizards, to show how much better we are than them."

Harry considered this. "I think I will," he agreed. "And maybe he can explain the pureblood philosophy better."

Ron, who had apparently been following their conversation, put his books down and turned to face them. "Really?" he asked, seeming as shocked as Ginny. "You want to know about that cra–"

"Ron!" Hermione interrupted. "Language!" She then turned back to Neville, though Harry was pretty sure she was still listening to them.

"Ron," Harry said softly, "I don't really know what I think as far as that goes. I do know that every wizard I've met has been nothing but kind and helpful to me, and every muggle I've met has treated me like dirt."

This revelation was met with shocked silence from everyone.

"Harry," Hermione said after a few moments, "surely you've met some people who aren't bad. Your family–"

"My _family_," Harry spat, "has made it very clear that they hate me. They don't just not love me, they _hate_ me. They tell people that I'm crazy; that's their story right now, I'm in St. Brutus' home for Criminally Insane Boys. Dudley beat me up every day! His favorite game is Harry-Hunting! He beat on anyone who tried to be my friend, too; you guys are the first people who haven't been scared to talk to me!" By now, angry tears were beginning to pour down Harry's face, and Hermione too was starting to cry listening to him. Ginny, Ron, and Neville's faces, though, were merely becoming harder and harder. "_I was kept locked in a cupboard, Hermione!_ For my whole _life_ they kept me in a space barely large enough for a cat, and I'm only getting a proper room when I get home because Professor Flitwick threatened them! I don't know how I'm going to survive when I go back there for summer, but I know this, Hermione.

"_They don't deserve to be called my family."_

Harry stopped and took several deep breathes. That had been boiling within him for far too long. He had wanted to cry it out every time he spoke to Remus, only fear for their lives holding it back. He–

Someone seemed to be choking behind him. Harry turned to see that Remus was standing there, a pained expression on his face.

"Harry, I…" the tall Auror was having trouble speaking. "I had no idea it was that bad. I came to tell you that… but not anymore. I need to take you to see Dumbledore. He needs to hear that."

* * *

"…and that's… that's all." Harry finished, still staring at Dumbledore's desk.

"Harry, look at me." Harry looked up into Dumbledore's intense blue eyes, seeming to bore into Harry's soul. After a moment, a tickling began in the back of Harry's nose, and he sneezed. Dumbledore looked away with a sigh. "I think that it's clear that Harry cannot return to the Dursleys," he said finally. "They cannot be allowed to treat him as they do, and I suspect that the wards collapsed long ago." He shook his head sadly. "I should have checked, or listened to Filius' warning, but…"

"It is not your fault, Albus," Remus said firmly. "You had no way of knowing how bad it was. _I_ didn't know until I overheard Harry telling his friends."

Dumbledore sighed again. "But I could easily have checked the wards, or come to speak to Harry personally," he said. "I simply assumed that they would treat him properly, being blood to him, and…"

"Where will Harry go for the summer?" Remus asked after several minutes of silence had passed. "I would be happy to take him–"

"No, Remus," Dumbledore said firmly. "It's too dangerous, you know that. And you know the Minister's stance on… you know it as well as I do. If he should discover that the Boy-Who-Lived is staying with…"

"I know that Remus' brother is a werewolf," Harry said. "I don't see why it should keep me from staying with him."

Remus and Dumbledore's eyes met for a moment, then the older wizard chuckled. "Keeping things quiet, I see. Nevertheless. Harry cannot stay with you, and he cannot stay at Hogwarts…"

"The Weasleys, perhaps?" Remus suggested. "Harry is friends with both sets of their twins. Or Alice would surely be happy to take him in."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I cannot ask Arthur and Molly to take in an eighth child," he said sadly. "And Alice and especially Augusta are far too prominent already; Lucius would not allow it easily. There is only one person who could possibly take Harry in without the Wizengamot or Lucius interfering _and_ without being swarmed by the press."

"Albus…" Remus began as Harry looked back and forth between the older wizards.

"We already planned this, Remus," Dumbledore said firmly. "Fawkes can take you wherever you need to go and bring you back every month, and it must be done if there is any chance of him being innocent."

Harry finally realized what they were talking about. "Black," he said flatly. "You're talking about Sirius Black."

"Yes," Remus agreed. "I had planned to go out and search for any possible evidence that might lead to Sirius getting a trial; if he is truly innocent, he can take Veritaserum and then he will be free."

"Fawkes," Dumbledore said, nodding to the fiery bird on its stand, "will be going with him, for transport and to take him to … his brother, every full moon. Quite ingenious, by the way, Remus."

"Thank you. But I'm not sure I want to leave Harry alone over the break…"

"No, go look," Harry told the auror. "I'll be fine. It's not like I'm the only person staying over break. All of the Weasleys are staying, after all."

Remus sighed. "Alright, Harry. But I may not be back for a long time, a year or more."

"I've gone this long without an adult role model," Harry said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his words. "I can go a little longer."

* * *

Harry silently ground up the snake fangs, pouring them into the cauldron and doing his best to ignore Draco's attempts at conversation.

"And then the brute tried to–" he was saying. Something about the latest idiotic thing that Crabbe or Goyle (the two were interchangeable) had done. Draco stopped talking in midsentence and sighed. "Alright, Harry. I've tried to get you not to think about it, but it's clear you just want to wallow in yourself. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Harry said bluntly. "I don't. If you must talk, talk about something useful. What're the differences between the muggle world and the magical one. Besides the obvious, I mean."

Draco shrugged. "Okay. Let's see… well, the first is that we're not a democracy, not really. The Minister of Magic isn't elected by the people, he's elected by the Wizengamot. And he doesn't have to run most of what he does past the Wizengamot, he can just do it.

"What else… teaching is a lot better here, we–"

"I know about teaching, Draco," Harry broke in as he cracked the shells off of a pair of salamander eggs. "Ginny and Ron's mum told me."

Draco pulled a face. "The Weasley woman? Blech. Anyway, we don't have as many businesses. After all, a proper wizard can conjure most of what they need, and there's not much that needs to be enchanted. Most jobs are in the Ministry, which really only has one purpose, or grew out of it, anyway."

"Really? What's that?"

"The Statute of Secrecy," Draco said. "I'll give you a quick rundown on the history of the Ministry, but I'll use the modern terms. The departments weren't actually called what they are right now until about a hundred years ago. Anyway, it started with the DMLE, magical law enforcement. That was to punish people who broke the Statute, nothing else. Then, later, the DRMC, regulation of magical creatures. That was to keep magical animals under control.

"Then, let's see… that was about the point that we started to really think of ourselves as a community, so we got the DIMC, international magical cooperation, because other Ministries were appearing. Then we got DMGS, magical games and sports, and then other laws started to be made, other than the Statute and its relatives. So before long there was the DGML, general magical law. And of course stuff like obliviators and things appeared too, but I don't remember when. And no-one really knows when the DM appeared. That's just the Department of Mysteries, I don't know much about them.

"Anyway, that's the Ministry."

Harry closed his eyes, taking a whiff of their Potion of Flame Resistance, which was almost done. The book said that it should have a peppermint scent, but it smelled more like cinnamon to him. "Professor Snape!" he called.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape drawled, drifting over.

"The potion has the wrong scent," Harry said as Draco sighed. "I'm sure we did everything right, but it smells like cinnamon, not peppermint."

"Cinnamon?" Snape muttered, leaning over to sniff. His eyes widened after a moment. "Quickly, add syrup of heliobore!" he spat. "Before it–"

**BOOM**


	18. Chapter 18: A Cryptic Conversation

**A/N: I know it looks like this is just a re-upload of the previous chapter, but it's got the next chapter merged with it, as the two were too short on their own.**

* * *

_"Cinnamon?" Snape muttered, leaning over to sniff. His eyes widened after a moment. "Quickly, add syrup of heliobore!" he spat. "Before it–"_

_**BOOM!**_

* * *

Harry reflexively jerked backwards, his chair skidding across the stone floor and slamming into the table behind him. After a moment, though, he realized that the explosion hadn't harmed anyone. In fact, a shimmering silver sphere had appeared around his cauldron, containing the explosion. After a moment, it disappeared, and a ball of smoke rose to the ceiling. There was nothing left of the cauldron or the potion.

Harry glanced up at Professor Snape as Draco stared at the scorched area where their cauldron had been. The professor, who moments ago had been bending over the cauldron, was now turning to the door. Harry followed his eyes and saw Professor Dumbledore standing there, replacing his slender wand in his pocket.

"Thank you for the assistance, Headmaster," Professor Snape said smoothly. "Is there something you need?"

"I'm afraid, Severus, that your class will have to be cut short today," said Dumbledore. "I have to speak with you about something of the upmost importance."

Harry began to pack his bags as the headmaster strode up the rows to wait near Professor Snape's desk. Snape, meanwhile, flicked his wand at their table to repair it, then walked around the room, Vanishing the half-made potions of his classmates.

Draco said good-bye to Harry and left for the dungeons as Ron approached. "Hey Harry," he said. "I saw that explosion. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry assured the redhead. "Headmaster Dumbledore caught the explosion in time."

"I wonder what the headmaster wants to talk to _Snape_ about," Ron pondered as they walked out. _"Snape_, of all people."

Harry nodded as he closed the door behind him; they were the last ones out. "I wish I could find out…" Suddenly he brightened. "We can!" he hissed, and crouched down beside the door, gently placing his ear against the keyhole.

He heard a sigh from within, and Dumbledore's voice saying, "Severus, would you cast the secrecy charms? I'm feeling somewhat depressed, and I fear that I might cast them wrongly."

"Of course, Headmaster. _Homenum revelio, e nomeisu quoq._" Harry flinched back from a wave of magic that rolled up his spine, similar to the wandless spell cast by Remus during his lecture. There was silence for a moment after the magic returned to the inside of the room, then Snape continued, "_Muffliato a eg elige."_ A slight buzzing filled Harry's ears before dissipating, and Ron furrowed his brow. Inside, Professor Snape continued through a series of twelve other spells, appending each with the same _"a eg elige."_

"Why the alterations, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, a touch of curiosity in his voice. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that specific one, what does it do?"

"I created it myself," Snape said coolly. "I use it rarely, as it is rather strenuous, but it seemed appropriate for what I assume concerns Mr. Evans?"

"Mr. Potter, you mean."

"…of course."

Another heavy sigh from Dumbledore. "I must admit that you were correct about Lily's sister. Did he ever tell you how his relatives treated him?"

"No."

"If you can think of a form of abuse, they probably did it to him. Worse than your own father, I would say. He never locked you in a small cupboard, after all."

"A _cupboard_?"

"Under the stairs, yes. They underfed him, allowed their own son to beat him… at least they never… ah…"

"I see. And what do you plan to do about that?"

"I confess, it is quite a dilemma," said Dumbledore. "I wondered who I could ask to take him in, but I don't know who could do it. If I brought it to the Wizengamot, Lucius Malfoy would try to take him, and that cannot be allowed. I'm worried enough about Harry's friendship with his son. I wonder if the Weasleys would be willing to take him in?"

"I would not recommend it," Snape said calmly. "I worry about the boy's association with their youngest son. The girl is adequate, but the boy is a dunderhead. I suspect that living with the Weasley family would make him reckless, unthinking…"

"I am more concerned with the state of their finances," said Dumbledore. "I'm not sure they can take on another child full-time. Remus offered, of course, but the Ministry's laws will not let him. Alice is too prominent to take Harry in without Lucius noticing and interfering. Remus has left to search for evidence to prove Sirius' innocence; as the godfather, he can take Harry and Lucius will be able to do nothing."

There was silence at this; Harry imagined that Snape was making a face at the thought of one of his old enemies taking in his favorite student. "That will likely take longer than the rest of this school year, though," the professor finally said.

"Yes, we'll be lucky if Remus finds anything within a few years," said the headmaster sadly. "So I am at a loss for what to do."

Snape sighed. "Is there any reason that the boy cannot remain at Hogwarts over the summer?" he asked, and Harry grinned. "The wards here are better than anywhere else he could go, and there are more than enough Professors who live here to keep him safe. You, Filius, Minerva, Vector, technically Trelawney, and I suppose Hagrid as well."

Dumbledore's voice was now tinged with relief and shaped by what Harry suspected was a large grin. "That's perfect, Severus!"

"Of course it is," Professor Snape drawled. "Is that all?"

"Not quite, my friend. The Draughts."

"…what about them?"

"You know, of course, that someone attempted to break into the room over Halloween, while the troll was loose?"

"Indeed. Has there been another attempt?" Snape asked.

"No, but I worry… Madam Hooch turned up. She was wandering the Forest and has no memory of anything since the night of her disappearance. She still has been unable to form any memories and cannot identify the man who led her there."

"And you suspect what?"

"I believe that whoever did it to her did so in order to clear the way for jinxing Mr. Potter's broom. Madam Hooch would have been able to catch him safely, of course, but whoever it was could not know that Alan was a professional player, able to do so as well. Thank you for slowing the jinx, by the way," Dumbledore added.

"Of course. But what was the point of the jinxing? It seemed to serve no purpose but to cause worry."

"If he had not been caught, Harry would have been injured, perhaps gravely. The school would be in uproar over it; the perpetrator would've had another chance to slip to the Draughts."

"Hmm…"

"Nicholas is still insistent that they remain here."

"I still say they should be destroyed."

"They are far too useful, Severus. You yourself were saved by one of them."

"And I am grateful to Flamel for that. But nevertheless, the idea that the Dark Lord might use one to return is… disturbing."

"Agreed. Voldemort is cunning, and I cannot help but wonder who he has tricked into doing his bidding."

"Adams?" Harry gasped.

"Alan is an experienced Auror, he has training in Occlumency and has fought off possession before," Dumbledore protested.

"The Dark Lord is a far more dangerous opponent than the petty dark wizards of America," Snape sneered. At least Harry assumed it was a sneer. It sounded like one.

"Nonetheless," Dumbledore said firmly. "Keep an eye on him if you must, but I trust Alan Adams."

"I think this conversation is over, Headmaster?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"_Finite Incantameneis."_

"So, how are your students acting?"

Harry stood slowly from the door as the two inside descended into meaningless chatter. It was mostly coming from Dumbledore, unsurprisingly, with Snape making the occasional snide comment.

"Well," he said, turning to face Ron, "that was quite interesting."

Ron appeared rather bored, and was leaning up against the opposite wall. "What was? Listening to faint buzzing noises for ten minutes?"

Harry blinked. "What do you mean? It was perfectly clear."

Ron shook his head. "Totally impossible to understand. I didn't catch anything."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Strange…" He proceeded to tell his redheaded friend about the conversation he had heard as they walked up to the Tower. "And, and…" Harry glanced around. "Where's Neville?"

"Hospital wing," Ron said. "His cauldron bubbled over and melted his robes. Didn't you notice?"

Harry shook his head. "I was kind of busy."

"Busy brooding," Ron smirked. "He'll be fine tomorrow, I bet. Madam Pomfrey's a miracle worker."

"Definitely. And we need to tell Ginny and Hermione about this at dinner. I wonder if one of them knows who that Flamel fellow, Nicholas, is."

"Probably," Ron agreed. "He's hiding these draught things in the castle, and they're dangerous…"

"I think they're more like healing potions or something," Harry argued. "Dumbledore said that Professor Snape was saved by one."

"Maybe…" Ron said slowly. "But even a healing potion can be dangerous in some circumstances. Like if you were healing a madman like You-Know-Who. Or, there's probably something that can reverse it and make it a poison."

"I guess. It sounded like they were pretty powerful."

"We'll talk about it with the girls at dinner," Ron said firmly. "Right now I'm going to beat you in chess."

"I might get you this time, Ron," Harry warned with a smile. "Gryphon," he said to the Fat Lady, and she swung open.

* * *

"…and then Professor Snape said something like _finite incantatem,_ but there was a difference that I didn't catch," Harry concluded. "From then on it was just small talk and we left." He was telling Hermione and Ginny about what he had overheard while Ron and Neville argued about the Chudley Cannons' latest loss in Quidditch. "What do you think?"

Hermione sighed. "I guess this disproves my theory about Snape," she said sadly.

"Sure does," Ginny agreed.

"But for your information, I know what that first spell was, I think," the brunette continued. "It was _Homenum revelio, e nomeisu quoq,_ right?" At Harry's nod, she grinned. "I don't know about the second phrase, but the first is a standard third-year spell. _Homenum revelio _reveals the presence of people in the area. He knew someone was there."

"'E nomeisu quoq' sounds kind of like Latin," Ginny mused. "I think that nomeisu would be 'names'. Something like that, anyway. So is it letting you know the people's name too?"

"Then he knew that Harry and Ron were listening in," Hermione said. "But Ron couldn't hear anything, you said?"

Harry nodded. "So are you saying… Professor Snape did something so the spells that kept people from listening didn't apply to me?"

"That's probably what the 'a eg elige' thing was," Hermione said. "You _did_ say that it seemed as though Snape was lying to the Headmaster."

"Yeah… I'm surprised that he wasn't caught at it. What was it… oh yeah, I also wanted to ask if either of you know who this Nicholas Flamel guy is?"

Hermione shook her head, but Ginny looked thoughtful. "I think he's on the Wizengamot," she said, and Harry started.

"That's right!" Harry agreed. "Draco said something about Lord Flamel having had a seat for centuries! I can ask him tomorrow afternoon; we're meeting up to go play some one-on-one Quidditch."

* * *

The next morning, Saturday, as Harry sleepily sat next to Hermione for breakfast, Professor Flitwick came around. "Hello, Profess-_yawn_, Prof-_yawn_, Professor," Harry finally managed. "What is it?"

Flitwick held up a parchment with a few names on it. "The sign-up sheet for the Christmas holidays," he said. "Put your name on it if you're staying."

Harry took it and signed as Hermione stared. After a while she found her voice, saying, "so the kids have full control? Parents aren't even consulted?"

The little professor shook his head. "Signing means that you want to stay. You guardians are still consulted."

Hermione looked crestfallen. "But my parents want to take me to France!" she wailed. "I don't want to go to France!"

"Relax, Hermione," Ron said as he signed. "McGonagall is your guardian; she signs off on it, not your parents."

Hermione was shocked. "What are you talking about, Ron? I have parents, I don't have a guardian."

Harry wrinkled his brow. "No, 'cause you're a muggleborn and the laws are unfair. Your parents don't exist in the magical world, so your guardian is your head of house. That's McGonagall." Hermione just stared. "Didn't you get this talk from her? Flitwick gave it to me and the muggleborns in our year on the very first night. The Head of House arranges schedules, gives career counseling, uh…" Harry counted off on his fingers. "…encourages studying and controls discipline, and is the guardian of muggleborn and orphaned students."

Flitwick nodded sadly. "The current laws are atrociously bigoted. Muggles have about as many rights as pets do in the muggle world. The Ministry doesn't want anyone killing them, because they're cute, but they're not really _people_," he snarled. The little professor began to breathe deeply, trying to calm down.

"So you see, your parents can't do anything if you want to stay here," Ron said to Hermione.

"Actually," said Professor Flitwick, "I know that Professor McGonagall always speaks to the parents of muggleborns and defers to their wishes. I might occasionally side with the student, but Minerva would never follow a student's wishes over those of their parents'."

Hermione's eyes fell as she realized that she would have to go. "Well then," she said sadly, "I suppose I'll have to talk to Professor McGonagall."

* * *

Harry met Draco in the Great Hall that afternoon with his Cruinneas broom.

"Hey Harry."

"Hey Draco."

"Got any plans for Christmas break?"

"Staying at Hogwarts and celebrating my freedom."

Draco cocked his head to the side. "I don't suppose you'd like to come to the Manor then?" he asked.

Harry was stunned for a moment. Draco was inviting him to come to his home for the holidays! At first he felt ecstatic. But as he considered, Harry realized that the offer might not be an entirely good thing.

If he went to Draco's home, Draco would be happy, and Harry himself would probably have fun, but Ron would feel slighted and might have another explosion. And while Harry didn't believe that Draco's father had willingly served Voldemort, Dumbledore clearly did. The Headmaster probably wouldn't be too happy if Harry went to the Malfoy's home, then.

"Sorry, Draco," Harry finally said. "I think I'll stay at Hogwarts. Maybe over Easter, or next year."

Draco's face froze in position for a moment, then –with some effort – he smiled and shrugged. "Alright. So, how've you been?"

Harry wondered what that face-freezing thing had been about, but he had to ask something, what was it… "You mentioned a Lord Flamel a while ago, right?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Yes… Lord Nicholas Flamel. Why?"

"Just curious," Harry lied. "I ran across the name on… a Chocolate Frog card, and I wondered what you knew about him."

"Well, he's more than six hundred years old," Draco said as they left the Hall. "He's been a Lord of the Wizengamot for most of that time; I don't remember why. Let me think… he doesn't take part in most votes of the Wizengamot; I know that. He spends most of his time with his wife in France, I think. I don't remember much about him, sorry. I would send an owl to ask Father, but he's away on business."

"What kind of business?"

"I didn't ask."

As they reached the Quidditch pitch, Harry asked, "Do you know where I could go to find out more about Flamel?"

Draco nodded, grabbing a Quaffle. "There's a book called _The Wisdom of the Wizengamot._ Some reporter collected quotes from the Lords on the Wizengamot, and it's also got biographies of them. I don't know if it's in the library or not, though."

"I'll check, I guess," Harry said, swooping after the Quaffle as Draco tossed it. "Thanks, Draco."

* * *

At dinner, after soundly defeating Draco, Harry told the gang what he had learned about Flamel.

"Interesting…" said Ron. "So he spends time in France…" He turned to look at Hermione. Slowly, the rest of the group looked to her as well.

"No," she said, catching on. "Oh no. No, no, no. I am _not _going to France just on the off chance that–"

"But Hermione, he's a member of the Wizengamot!" Ron said. "If you frequent the wizarding areas of France, the Rue de l'Argent and the Musée des Arts Mystique, you're sure to hear something!"

Hermione growled. "Ronald Weasley, I am _not_ some rumor hound you can send out to fetch–"

"Hermione," Ginny interrupted, "you know that Professor McGonagall will defer to your parents, and you'll have to go to France. What's the harm in checking Flamel out while you're there?"

While the brunette sputtered and tried to find some objection, Neville took over. "Besides, he sounds interesting. He's six hundred years old, you said?"

"More than," Harry agreed. "He's bound to have some cool stories if you can find out what they are."

After several more minutes of arguing, Hermione seemed to realize that she had lost. "Fine!" she shouted. "Fine. I'll go to France, alright? Are you all happy now? Because _I'm_ not."

Her only answer was four identical grins.

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

**A/N: The charm Snape uses first, _Homenum revelio,_ _e nomeis u quoq,_ is a variation on the canon _Homenum revelio,_ which reveals the presence of humans. The addition of _e nomeis_ _u quoq_ lets it also reveal the names of those present. It roughly translates as 'humans reveal, and names as well'. The second charm he uses, _Muffliato a eg elige,_ makes _Muffliato_ not affect those the caster wants to exclude. I'm not sure what _muffliato _means exactly, but _a eg elige _is a corruption of _a ego eligere,_ which means 'from those I choose'. The modified verson of _Finite Incantameneis _ just makes it plural; 'end spells' instead of 'end spell'. It works better on sets multiple spells, like the thirteen Snape is canceling there."**

**Because someone asked me in a private PM; 'Draught' is pronounced the same as draft, and in fact is just a fancier way of spelling the same word. It means a mouthful of a drink; a draft of whiskey, for example, is just enough or a single swallow. One Draught of Living Death can only be drunk by one person. Two Draughts is enough for two people, etc.**


	19. Chapter 19: Christmas Day

**A/N: Please note, for those who haven't already, that the last update was an addition to Chapter 18.**

* * *

Unfortunately for Harry, Hermione wasn't the only person who was leaving for the holidays. Ron and Ginny's preference for staying had been overruled by their mother. They had to leave for a family reunion of some sort, and Neville had apparently promised his Mum that he'd come for the holidays. Neville invited Harry, but Draco would have been insulted if he went to the Longbottom's after turning him down, so Harry was left alone at Hogwarts.

Much of the rest of the school left to take the Hogwarts Express back to London on the 23rd. Harry waved goodbye as they tramped out the door. He was glad that _he_ didn't have to walk through the two-foot deep snow down to the horseless carriages at the base of the hill.

Harry turned away from the doors to the Hall, glancing over the few people who were staying this year. There were two Hufflepuffs, a couple, who looked to be in fifth or sixth year; a second year Ravenclaw girl; and Theodore Nott from Slytherin: only five students, plus the teachers. The castle would be pretty empty.

Harry decided to go check the library for that book Draco had mentioned. What was it called? _Wisdom of the Wizengamot?_ Yes, that was it…

* * *

"What? Why?" Harry asked, flabbergasted.

"Because," Madam Pince snarled, "Headmaster Dumbledore had it moved there. Come back with a signed permission slip from a Professor, and I will get the book from the Restricted Section for you."

Harry walked away with a sigh. He had looked through everywhere in the library he could think of that might contain the book – the history section, politics – before asking Madam Pince where _Wisdom of the Wizengamot_ could be found. It was, as it turned out, in the Restricted Section. But really, it was just a book! It had no spells, no recipes, as far as he knew. There were only biographies of each Lord on the Wizengamot and words of advice from each. Harry could think of nothing the book might contain which would cause Dumbledore to restrict it.

Harry glanced at the entrance to the Restricted Section, in the wall of the main library. The black stone archway was a stark contrast to the mahogany planking that lined the rest of the room. Beyond the dark archway was a equally black stairwell, spiraling down with only the occasional torch for light. Not an inviting place. He shivered as a cold wind from below gusted up the stairs at him.

Sneaking into the Restricted Section was out of the question. It was in plain view of Madam Pince's desk, and she never seemed to sleep. Even when she left her desk to stalk the shelves, she could hear any disturbance from anywhere in the library. Fred and George swore that the books talked to her and told her whenever someone was acting up. No, he wouldn't be sneaking into the Restricted Section.

That left getting permission from a teacher. Dumbledore was out of the running to start with; as cordial and pleasant as he was, he was the one who had taken it from the main library in the first place. Professor McGonagall? After a moment's consideration, Harry rejected her as well. She would want to know why he needed the book, and she would see right through any trick he tried to pull. Professor Flitwick? Maybe… no, wait, he had been one of the few teachers who left for Christmas. He was visiting his great-grandchildren, or something like that. Professor Snape had the same problem as McGonagall, far too sharp to be fooled. What about Professor Silas, the history Professor? If Harry claimed he was doing research for an extra-credit essay on the Wizengamot…

Head filling with plans, Harry absently returned to the empty Gryffindor Tower.

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

Harry continued to scheme through the next day, spending his time lazing about the Tower and idly exploring. He had decided to approach Professor Silas about it and was crafting the pitch for his "extra credit"; he would be writing a piece on the history of the Wizengamot and its notable members. Dumbledore was of course the most famous member currently, and there was no full biography of the man. The best he had heard of was in _Wisdom of the Wizengamot, _so would the Professor…?

It was a pretty solid plan, Harry thought. But his schemes were rewritten in a moment the next morning.

* * *

Harry woke up on Christmas day with a tingle of excitement in the air. He had no idea why. It wasn't as though he would be getting any presents…

Then his saw the pile at the foot of his bed. It wasn't a particularly _large_ pile, but it was far better than the miserable single boxes he used to get from the Dursleys. And, yes, there was a box from them right there, near the bottom. The rest of the pile was much more interesting.

Harry practically dove headfirst into his presents – _plural_, he had present_s_. He tore wrapping paper carelessly and in general gave a good impression of a feeding school of piranhas.

There weren't as many presents as there had seemed at first glance, unfortunately. True, his friends had all sent small gifts: Draco had given him a book of pureblood genealogy, with a bookmark in the 'P's; Ginny had sent him a dog-eared and clearly well-loved book of Greek myths; Neville and Ron had pooled their money together to get him a sizable box of candy from Honeyduke's. Hermione had somehow gotten a little glass figure of a troll made; it rested on a wooden base along with a pair of smaller figures with wands in hand.

Professor Flitwick, true to his word at the start of term, had a small gift: a belt pouch with the Gryffindor crest and the initials _HP_ monogrammed on it. Harry immediately transferred his money from the little black bag he had bought from Diagon Alley into it. Professor Snape had given him a gift too, surprisingly; it was a muggle photo album, filled with pictures of a skinny boy with long black hair and a red-headed girl with startlingly green eyes. After a moment of confusion, Harry realized that the photos were of a young Snape and his mother.

Harry was reluctant to set aside the album and move onto the last present, but eventually opened up the shoebox sent by the Dursleys. True to form, it contained nothing by a knobbly black sock.

Harry tossed it into his trunk, making a mental note to burn it as soon as he learned a fire spell. He reached for the photo album once more, but as he did he realized that there was one more present waiting for him.

"Who could this be from?" he muttered, picking up the incredibly flat package. It was a square perhaps a foot square and less than a half-inch thick, with had no label. He tore the wrapping paper carefully and found that it was a wooden frame, entirely empty. However, peering through it, he saw not the dorm room where he sat, but a hidden space, only a foot deep. Within the space was another package, silvery and amorphous.

Harry withdrew it and found that it was a long cloak, made from some silver material that slid over his skin like water. He wrapped it around himself and drew it shut, pulling the hood up and drawing down an odd, transparent veil from the lining to cover his face. He wondered what the point of it was; it was a fine cloak, not restrictive and very light, but the veil made no sense. Was it a disguise of some sort?

Harry entered the bathroom to take a look at his reflection in the mirror, and couldn't find it. His reflection… it was gone! The mirror didn't show him at all.

Harry drew the hood of the cloak back, and grinned as his head reappeared. An invisibility cloak! This changed everything. He didn't have to bother getting permission from a Professor; he could just sneak right into the Restricted Section! After the Christmas feast, of course.

* * *

Harry was far too excited for his planned foray into the Restricted Section to bother reading or exploring. He paced around his dorm room, slipping the cloak on and off again and again. Finally he went down to make an appearance at the feast, planning to slip away partway through with claims of a bad headache. He would get a headache potion from Madam Pomfrey, who would tell him to lie down for a bit. After reaching the dorm, he would don his cloak, take one of Fred and George's secret paths from the Tower, and sneak into the Restricted Section while Madam Pince was at the feast.

At shortly before eleven, Harry left the Tower to head down to the Christmas feast. He ran into Professor McGonagall on the way down and made small talk about his schoolwork. She confided in him that if she had her way, she would have a separate Professor for each year and smaller classes, and Harry agreed that it sounded like it made sense, but wouldn't it be hard to find enough Masters for all the subjects? Professor McGonagall agreed, and told him that she was also worried about what might happen with the Defense Professors.

"After all, whatever curse is on the position is very real," she told Harry. "It's worked perfectly ever since the retirement of Professor Merrythought, almost sixty years ago: a new Professor every year, by whatever means necessary. Galgam, two years ago, was caught with three second-years under Imperius. Destul, six years ago, was found with a chimera egg. Professor Adams believes that he can escape a more brutal manifestation by taking a one-year contract and leaving after this year in favor of someone else. I worry, though - if we had more than one Professor, might it strike only at one each year, or at all of them?"

Harry shrugged. "Who knows? Besides, with any luck you won't have to be the Headmistress and make these decisions for a long time."

McGonagall smiled. "There is that. Albus is in good health, after all."

They entered the Great Hall and sat at the one long table which had replaced the four House tables. Not much point in separating when there were only twenty people, as Dumbledore had said the first night of the holidays.

Last night, Harry had tried to take the opportunity to get to know Theodore Nott, the only other first-year who had stayed behind, but had failed. All he had learned was that the Notts and the Malfoys were rivals for control of many of the most lucrative businesses in Britain, like the little dragon breeding that took place on the island. After divulging this information, Nott became quite unresponsive.

So instead, Harry spoke to the second-year Ravenclaw girl. It turned out that she was named Cho Chang, and she was on the reserve Seeker for Ravenclaw's Quidditch team. The current Seeker was a sixth year named Arnold Adams, a distant cousin of the Defense Professor. Harry was intrigued by the idea of a reserve Quidditch team; Ravenclaw seemed to be the only House who had one, but it meant that their main team could practice against another full team, and that any substitutes they had to bring in had already practiced with the full team. Harry resolved to talk to Oliver about recruiting a reserve team after the holidays.

"I think that your redhead friend – what's her name? Ginny? – may join as a reserve once Arnold leaves," Cho said, spearing a hard-boiled egg.

"Ginny?" Harry snorted. "She hates Quidditch! Well, maybe not hates," he allowed, "but she's not enamored of it either. She hates it when Ron – her twin brother, he's in Gryffindor – starts going on about it, anyway."

"Really? Odd… she has the right build for Seeker or Chaser, and I hear she did nearly as well as you during flying class."

Harry continued to talk with Cho, discussing Quidditch while he waited until seven-thirty, when he had decided he would fake his headache. After a while, the conversation turned to Cho's Defense professor last year.

"Blier was alright, I suppose," she said, "but Professor Adams is far better. And then in June the weirdo tried to steal something from the Headmaster's office, I never found out – Harry, are you alright?"

Harry had been scanning the table, trying to decide if he needed to take a few minutes to pretend not feeling well before he asked Madam Pomfrey for the headache potion, when his bright green eyes met Professor Adams' icy blue ones. A sharp lance of pain had struck Harry's scar, and he had instinctively slapped a hand over it.

"Fine," Harry tried to say, but it came out as more of a grunt. Madam Pomfrey had already risen from her chair and hurried over to him, and everyone was now looking his way.

A quick charm of some sort made his skull glow with a dark reddish light, and Pomfrey frowned. "That's im…" her voice trailed off as she glanced at Dumbledore. Something seemed to pass between them as she met his eyes, and she sighed. "I think that you should take a headache potion and lie down for a bit, Mr. Potter," the matron said, pressing one into Harry's hand. "Go up to your dorm after taking that."

Harry drank the vile-tasting potion, and as he swallowed, his head immediately felt better. It also felt like it was swathed in some sort of cotton, but that was sure to wear off before long. Now, he thought as he hurried from the Hall, he could head to the Restricted Section!

* * *

**A/N: Please read and review; your feedback inspires me!**

**Minor edits for grammar and spelling have occurred in chapters 1-4.  
**


	20. Chapter 20: The Restricted Section

_Harry drank the vile-tasting potion, and as he swallowed, his head immediately felt better. It also felt like it was swathed in some sort of cotton, but that was sure to wear off before long. Now, he thought as he hurried from the Hall, he could head to the Restricted Section!_

* * *

Harry reached his dorm within a few minutes and flung on the invisibility cloak, still trying to dispel the pleasant cotton-like feeling. As he hurried back down to the first floor so he could enter the library, he practiced walking under the Cloak without tripping or letting his feet show, which he really should have done already.

In the library, Madam Pince was sitting at her desk, apparently repairing a torn book with needle and thread. Why didn't she use a repairing spell? As she worked, though, he realized that the book was struggling trying to escape from her ministrations. The book was alive! A repairing charm wouldn't work on it, clearly, and healing spells were made for people, not books, so she had to use muggle methods. Perhaps, Harry realized, her job was not as simple as it seemed.

Harry shrugged under the silky mantle, though, and passed her by. It was a strange feeling to be invisible; not only did he not appear in reflections, but he couldn't see his feet or hands. And people paid him no attention at all; their eyes didn't track him, but stared straight through his body. Harry might have been discovered if Filch hadn't stop when Peeves made a loud ruckus in another part of the castle. Harry took the opportunity and escaped. Paintings, too, couldn't see him; they did whatever strange things they did when they truly were alone. He had passed a painting of a Minister of Magic picking his nose.

Harry glanced around at the faintly glowing brass plates that identified each row of books. Was he coming the right way? He was sure that the Restricted Section was this way… and what was up with the black splotch on the wall?

Harry stared at the blackness, and a cold wind seemed to billow up from within in, rustling the folds of the Cloak and making the faint lights within it dance. Oh, right, _that_ was the Restricted Section. It was so dark he hadn't noticed it. Odd.

Harry shivered as he descended the black stairs. The pressure on his skin, the warm, comfy feeling of magic that pervaded Hogwarts, was changing. It still pressed against every bit of his body, but the warmth was disappearing, being replaced with a cold, clammy feeling. This must be the reason for the cold winds that blew up the stairs. As he climbed down farther, deep below the castle, Harry realized that the changing feeling of magic – due to Dark magic, he guessed – wasn't abstract. It seemed to be focused on him, an intruder, as it wasn't constant and calm, like Hogwarts' magic was. It pulsed at him, swirled angrily on his skin, and somehow gave the impression that this area – or something in the area – hated him, personally.

It was probably just that he was the only one down here, Harry reasoned, but he still didn't like it, and he resolved to find his book and get out as soon as possible.

Harry glanced over the much smaller Restricted Section of the library. Where the normal library was huge, taking up all of the first floor that wasn't the Great Hall, the Restricted Section was only a single room. It was indeed full of bookshelves, but not all were full; some half-full, some with only a single, fat, smug-looking book in the center. There was one shelf which seemed to be empty, but shimmered like water; another shelf was lined with lead, with a green-glowing tome in the center; there was a steaming basin of ice sitting at one wall with an enticing, hot pink grimoire resting in it. One volume was solid black with stars scattered across it, twinkling gently. Harry was pretty sure he saw one blood-stained tome labeled _The Necronomicon._

Harry shivered as the Dark magic that coiled around the room pulsed once more, and he quickly looked up and down the shelves, searching for the book he wanted. But the labels on the shelves were useless: _Book of Slow Demise, _read the plaque upon the lead-lined shelf; _by Herpo the Foul,_ declared another shelf; _Soul Magics,_ claimed one of the empty shelves. Harry walked hopefully up a shelf which claimed to house books on history, but to no avail. One of them seemed interesting, _the True Story of the First Goblin War_, but as he opened it the noises of battle sprang from its pages. Harry quickly slammed it shut before anyone could hear.

Finally, Harry found the book he sought, in a row that positively rang with Dark magic, which had been labeled with the uninformative _Dark Secrets_. _Wisdom of the Wizengamot_ was a slim volume, only a hundred pages at most, describing the lives of the thirteen Lords who had been part of the Wizengamot at the time of writing twenty years ago.

Harry flipped it open to the table of contents, scanning down just the last names, and was glad to see that each section had a title to go along with the name of the Lord. That might help.

_Bones: Lady of Law_

_Riddle: Founder's Heir_

_Dumbledore: Wonderful Wizard_

_Flamel: Alchemist Supreme_

Harry grinned as he read the last line, then nearly vomited as a fresh wave of loathing from the Dark rolled over him. He practically shoved the book into the shelf again as he fled the Restricted Section, but he had found what he was looking for.

Nicholas Flamel had been an Alchemist.

* * *

Harry began to slow as he finally reached the first floor, finally exiting the Restricted Section and reentering the main library. He sighed heavily and glanced around, still invisible. No-one was around.

Harry walked as calmly as he could through the dark library, navigating slowly through the entrance. He slipped past Madam Pince easily as the wrinkled librarian struggled to corner a thick book which had apparently been dropped into water; the back half was soaked.

"Calm down!" she shouted at it. "You know you need this appendectomy!"

Harry struggled not to laugh as he peered out the door to the library. Look to the left, empty. Look right, Filch. All clea–

Filch!

Harry gasped and scrambled back as Filch turned to enter the Library. The ugly old caretaker moved surprisingly quickly, and bumped into Harry's elbow.

"Eh?" he asked, swinging his lantern around and nearly walloping Harry. "Who's there?"

Harry froze in place under the Cloak as the caretaker glared about. Then Filch's eyes locked onto something on the ground.

The edge of his robe was protruding out of the Cloak. He quickly tugged it under, but it was too late. Filch had seen.

"Student out of bounds!" the caretaker roared, leaning forward and trying to grab Harry in a bear hug. "Invisible student in the library corridor!"

Harry fled the cursing caretaker, turning corridors wildly and occasionally looking back. Mrs. Norris had arrived and was dashing towards him; the cat must be able to smell him or something. Filch was following her, still bellowing.

Harry ducked into a room around a corner and pressed his wand up against the frame, whispering "_Colloportus!"_ There was a click as the spell took hold, locking the door. He tried to breathe quietly.

"Behind this door, my dear?" Filch rattled the handle of the door, then tried to turn it. "Locked again! You're losing your touch, Mrs. Norris!" Harry heard the caretaker stomp away. Mrs. Norris mewled a few times, but then she too left, claws clicking on the stone floor.

With a deep sigh of relief, Harry glanced around the room he had taken refuge in. It seemed to be a potions lab of some sort. There was dust everywhere; with the practiced eye of someone who had been forced to clean rooms for most of his life, Harry estimated that no-one had been in the room for several months, probably since school had started. There were still ingredients resting out on the tables, and some notes, although the cauldrons stood empty.

Harry wandered over to the cauldron that had the least dust on it and saw something that wasn't by any of the other cauldrons; sitting next to the pewter basin was a little stylized glass vial, holding some sort of grayish smoky substance. He uncorked it and poured the smoky liquid into the cauldron with a sizzle. It swirled around for a bit before settling into a rough pool, sending up a few tendrils that waved about in the air for a few seconds before falling again. Odd.

Harry glanced at the notes which sat on the desk. The contents of the notes were indecipherable, though; while they were written neatly in a striking style which seemed familiar to Harry, they were very complicated, and he had no idea what kind of potion they would make. Harry let his eyes bounce around the page, trying to find any ingredients he recognized, but saw none. Qurandel flower, augery tailfeather, _mimbulus mimbletonia_ bile…

Harry frowned. He remembered that last one. _Mimbulus minbletonia _bile… he didn't know what the _mimbulus _itself was, but they had used to bile in the last Potions class before the holidays. Professor Snape had said it was generally non-reactive and used to settle unstable potions, except when mixed with acromantula venom, when it formed a powerful acid.

Harry continued to glance through the notes, not really knowing what he was looking for, then found it. The last step in brewing the potion – _add exactly 3 pints of acromantula venom._

Harry's eyes widened and he glanced back at the pewter cauldron he had thoughtlessly poured the vial of smoky potions into; the potion was gone and there was a large hole right through the cauldron and the table. He ducked down for a moment and saw the acid pooled on the floor and beginning to spread, reaching out with the tendrils…

Harry's eyes widened further when he realized whose hand had written the notes. He had seen their writing dozens of times, marking his homework. Always finding something wrong that he could've done better, but always pronouncing his work acceptable, that vaunted goal which so few reached.

Snape had brewed the acid.

Harry fled the room.

* * *

**A/N: A few notes for people, just to clear up possible confusion:**

**This is the Restricted Section, not the main library: students aren't allowed in under any circumstances. If you do get a note for a book from it, you show it to Madam Pince and _she _gets it for you. Thus, you can't get a note for one book from inside the section and actually get three others from there.**

**_Wisdom of the Wizengamot_ is a book which interviewed the Lords of the Wizengamot at the time of writing. There are only 13 people interviewed (and biographied) in the book, even though the Wizengamot was far larger than that even when the book was written; most of the Wizengamot, after all, is the Common Block, equal in size to the Lord's Block and the Baron's block put together, and the Baron's block is much larger than the Lord's Block as it is.**

**A slight edit has occurred to chapter 19, pushing back the time of the feast from 7:00 to 11:00. Thus, a student being anywhere but the Great Hall is out of bounds.  
**


	21. Chapter 21: The Poisoned Goblet

**A/N: If I can get to 100 reviews, then the next chapter (whatever it is when we get there) will also have a sneak peek of the next book!**

**Edit: This has apparently caused some confusion, so let me clarify. I will continue to update normally (the next chapter should be out either on Saturday or Sunday). At whatever point we reach 100 reviews, lets say it's shortly after Chapter 23 goes up, I'll add a sneak preview of the next book into the next chapter that goes up, so it would be in Chapter 24. The sneak preview will include the name of the book and two climactic lines of dialogue, one from about the middle of the school year and the other from near the end of the book. This offer will also apply for the next book: whenever Draught of Life reaches 100 reviews, even if that's after it's ended and the next book has begun, I'll give you the two climactic lines of dialogue, assuming that we haven't reached them already.  
**

* * *

"Wait, why didn't you stay to read the biography?" Ron asked. The returning students had arrived just in time for dinner, and Harry was telling Ron and Neville about his trip to the Restricted Section. "Sure, it's good to know that he was an alchemist, but wouldn't it be better to know more?"

"I didn't want to spend any more time in there than I had to!" Harry insisted. "You weren't there – it was horrible! If _you _want to borrow the Cloak and sneak into the Restricted Section, _fine_, but I am _never_ going in there again!"

"Calm down, Harry," Neville said. "Ron didn't mean that you should go back. I'm sure that Hermione found out some things, anyway." Ron glanced over at Hermione and Ginny, sitting at the Ravenclaw table, but Harry was still glaring daggers at Ron. Neville decided to change the subject. "What cloak is this, Harry?"

"I got an invisibility cloak for Christmas," Harry said, turning deliberately away from Ron. "Didn't I mention that?"

Neville shook his head. "No, but that's pretty cool. You'll have to show that to us sometime. Get anything else good?"

"Professor Flitwick gave me a belt pouch with the Gryffindor crest and my initials," Harry said. "Did you get the same?"

"Yeah."

"Ah. Hermione got me a little glass troll, which was cool."

"I got one of those two," Ron said, trying to enter into the conversation again. Harry ignored him and merely continued talking.

"Oh, and Professor Snape gave me a photo album of him and my mum when they were kids," Harry added. "That was pretty cool, and I still need to thank him for that."

"Fine," Ron said to the air. "I'll just not say anything, shall I?"

"Very good idea," Neville agreed. "Just let Harry calm down, alright?"

"Who're you talking to, Neville?" Harry asked.

Ron's eyes narrowed, and he began breathing deeply, trying to stay calm. After another minute or two, the redhead stood, leaving his food on the table, and began walking towards the doors to the Hall. He broke into a run halfway there and disappeared.

Neville glared at Harry. "Why did you get so angry at him?" He demanded. "Ron didn't do anything wrong!"

Harry started to snap at Neville, too, but then stopped himself and thought: why _had_ he gotten so angry at Ron? He felt angry in general, a low-grade dislike towards everyone he saw, now that he was aware of it. Something was off about it. Harry sniffed, and something seemed off about the smells of the food. He wasn't a good enough potioneer to tell what, but…

"Harry?"

"Something's wrong with my juice," Harry said flatly. He reached over, sniffed at Neville's, and couldn't smell the wrong-ness from his own. Whatever it was, the sour scent that was barely present, was only in his cup. Someone was trying to do something to him, but it wasn't going to work. He wouldn't let it. And when he found out who it was they would pay…

No! That was the potion in his drink talking! Harry picked up his cup and walked towards the Head table. Professor Snape would know what to do.

The Headmaster raised a silver eyebrow as Harry approached. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry blinked. Why was the doddering old fool calling him by his – no! "I think someone slipped a potion into my drink," he said as calmly as he could.

Professor Snape, sitting to Dumbledore's left, turned away from his conversation with Professor Flitwick to face Harry. "What led to you believe this?" he demanded.

"There's a slight sour smell, and I'm noticing irrational anger," Harry said, suppressing anger that the Professor didn't believe him.

"That's worrying," Dumbledore said, beckoning with a hand. The cup floated from Harry hand to the Headmaster's, and he passed it to Snape. "What do you think, Severus?"

The professor sniffed a few times. "Erumpent blood, augery tears, lemon juice and crabapple slices. That would be a Calming Draught. There's something else in there, though… elendil root, perhaps. That would act to reverse the effect of the augery tears and turn it into a Draught of Anger, I suspect. Quite ingenious."

"Who would be able to brew such a thing, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, seeming quite concerned. "If it is a new potion, then…"

"Not a new potion exactly," Snape sneered, sipping the juice and making a face at the taste. "Yes, definitely elendil root. It's just an inversion of a normal potion. But Calming Draughts are quite difficult to make – the erumpent blood needs a delicate touch – and I doubt any of the students could brew it. Few of the teachers could, either. I can, of course, and Professor Adams, as an auror, knows medical potions like the calming draught."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Professor Snape clearly believed that Adams had been the architect of this as well as the jinxed broom. Why?

"What could the purpose be?" Dumbledore inquired, but he seemed to be speaking to himself more than Snape now. "If it was more powerful, then Harry might've caused a disturbance and distracted us, but as it is I can still pay attention to the castle, and everyone is here. If it had been placed in everyone's cups, it could've served a similar effect, but no, it's only Harry's. Hm…"

Harry was pretty sure that the potion was beginning to wear off, and he realized something. "Headmaster, Professor, Ron was behaving oddly too. Normally, if I acted like I just did, he would've gotten angry right back and started shouting at me, but he just left. I think he was crying when he ran out of the hall… I've got to apologize!" He promptly ran down the length of the Hall, following Ron.

Dumbledore waved his hand again and Ron's cup, empty, floated to him. He passed it to Snape as well, and the Potions Master sniffed unenthusiastically. "It's also drugged," he said. "A similar potion, I think, but this one has orange juice rather than lemon juice. I think it would enhance sadness and similar emotions."

The Headmaster frowned. "That makes no sense. It seems to me that the only result would be to create an argument between Harry and young Mr. Weasley. If their angers were both aroused, then they've already shown that they can reconciled after calming down, but a deep sadness caused by a potion would be more difficult to resolve. Hm…" Suddenly, Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, and he turned to Professor Snape. "Severus…" he began in a low and dangerous tone of voice.

"I believe this is a conversation best done privately, Headmaster," Snape said smoothly, and they stood from the table and stalked away from the Head Table as one.

* * *

"Ron!" Harry shouted. "Ron, wait, I'm sorry!" He ran through the halls, trying to find where Ron had gone. "Please, wait!"

Harry reached the common rRoom in record time and almost yelled at the Fat Lady, "Is Ron in there?"

"The little redheaded boy?" The Fat Lady asked. At Harry's nod, she continued, "Yes, he came in not five minutes ago."

"Hippogriff!" Harry dashed through the opening portrait, and seeing no head of bright red hair in the Common Room, went on a beeline for the dorms. "Ron!"

"Go away, Potter." Harry stopped at the door to the first-year dorm. Ron was curled up on his bed, head buried in a pillow. "Go _away_."

"Ron, I—"

"_Out!"_

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it and closed it again. In the end, he didn't say anything; just turned and slowly walked down the stairs again. A faint sob came from behind him.

* * *

**A/N: Alright, so someone reviewed on Ch 20 on what I hope everyone caught. The line was "Riddle: Founder's Heir", in the table of contents for _Wisdom of the Wizengamot. _The anonymous reviewer correctly pointed out that Riddle wasn't a member of the Wizengamot, he was just the shopkeeper's assistant for Borgin & Burke's, and that no-one (aside from Dumbledore and later Harry) knew that he was a descendent of Slytherin through the Gaunt side.  
**

**_I know all of this._  
**

**That's what happened in canon. This isn't canon, though. It's an AU, and although it is _close_ to canon, there are clearly more differences than have been apparent so far. After all, the only differences that have showed up are Ginny being Ron's twin sister, Neville's mum being sane (this is due to her having been a Healer, as said in the summary, and therefore not with her husband when he was tortured), and Professors Flitwick and McGonagall having swapped Houses. This one little snippet of a more major difference should serve to remind you that it _is_ an AU.  
**

**Basically, I _know_ that Riddle wasn't a member of the Wizengamot in canon and I knew exactly what I was doing when I put his name in the book.  
**


	22. Chapter 22: Visiting Hagrid

**A/N: Last chapter, I said that if this story got to 100 reviews than I would post a sneak preview of the next book with the next chapter. This has apparently caused some confusion, so let me clarify. I will continue to update normally. At whatever point we reach 100 reviews, lets say it's shortly after Chapter 25 goes up, I'll add a sneak preview of the next book into the next chapter that goes up, so it would be in Chapter 26. The sneak preview will include the name of the book and two climactic lines of dialogue, one from about the middle of the school year and the other from near the end of the book. This offer will also apply for the next book: whenever Draught of Life reaches 100 reviews, even if that's after it's ended and the next book has begun, I'll give you the two climactic lines of dialogue, assuming that we haven't reached them already.**

**Also! My beta has a job now (yay for her) which unfortunately leaves her no time to help me out. In other words, I'm once again down a beta, so if anyone is willing to beta for me just shoot me a PM. I need someone who can spot grammatical errors and extreme OOC-ness, and who can send me back the chapter a day or so after getting it.**

* * *

The next several weeks were torturous for Harry. Ron refused to speak to him, even to hear an apology, and he wouldn't even talk to Hermione, Neville, or Ginny. Ginny was nearly as heart-broken as her twin after he had told her to leave - they both were red-eyed and tired throughout the day, and only responded to direct questions. Ginny was doing lots and lots of drawings now, and all of them made Harry weep: a picture of Kamno with one head and one stump; a sketch of a mermaid dying in a desert; a full-color image of a slim blonde girl, sobbing on a stone floor somewhere underground.

Harry, meanwhile, did his best to ignore Ron's prattish behavior, reasoning that the potion would wear off eventually, but he knew in the back of his mind that the whole argument was his fault. Yes, he had ingested the anger potion, and yes, Ron had taken some sadness potion, but _he_ had been the one to ignore Ron and provoke the sadness and depression. Draco tried to offer comfort, a sad look for his friend on his face, but Harry saw through it. The blonde had never liked the redhead, and was now quietly satisfied that Harry's friendship with Ron appeared to be over. Harry rebuffed him.

The one bright spot in this arose after Professor Sprout held Neville back after Herbology one day. He had, as it turned out, received the highest scores in Herbology since Sprout herself. She had asked him to assist her in the greenhouses outside of classes, making him her apprentice in the art. It ate up all of his free time, but Neville was gratified and accepted instantly, resulting in the first contact with Ron since the Incident: he gruffly congratulated Neville before sobbing a bit and leaving.

Harry had never gotten around to telling his friends about the acid Snape had brewed before term started. Upon reflection, he decided that it was probably a good thing, though: Hermione would take it as proof for her crackpot theory about Professor Snape being evil, while Ginny would argue that it was clearly another safeguard for the package Hagrid had picked up.

Speaking of the package, Hermione had found out much more about Nicholas Flamel than Harry himself had. He was reclusive and never came out it public, but it seemed that he was famous in the muggle world as well as the wizarding world.

"There's even a street named after him," she had told him earnestly. "And another named after his wife. Supposedly they created an artifact called the Philosopher's Stone, which can be used to create the Elixir of Eternal Life. By taking the Elixir regularly, you can become immortal!"

Ginny, though, had pointed out that muggles often got such things wrong, and insisted on looking up the Philosopher's Stone in an alchemy book from the library. It turned out that the Flamels had in fact been able to create the Stone, but the Elixirs of Eternal Life (Draughts of Eternal Life, technically) had not needed replenishment. Flamel had only created one cauldron of Draughts before he realized this, and destroyed the Stone. The Draughts lost some power, and rather than staving off death forever, now _only _healed any wound. Since being made, all of the Draughts have been used up.

"But clearly not all of them were," Hermione had argued. "Since we know at least two of them are in Hogwarts, in the forbidden corridor."

But try as they might, none of them could figure out whether Snape was right and Adams was trying to steal the Draughts or if Dumbledore was right and he wasn't. Hermione still held that Snape was trying to, even though she was alone in her belief. Neville and Ginny backed Dumbledore, while Harry thought that Snape was right.

* * *

In late January, Harry got another letter from Hagrid inviting him for tea. Needing something to do to distract him from the ongoing problems with Ron, Harry immediately accepted, writing back with Tantalus (the silver-gold owl would answer to either Electrum or Tantalus, but seemed to prefer his original name) that Hermione and Ginny would also be coming.

When Harry arrived at the Great Hall with the girls, he saw Hagrid waiting for him.

"I heard about you and Ron," Hagrid said in his precise voice. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry swallowed. "Yeah, I'm doing alright," he answer. "Ginny's not, though."

"I'm _fine,_ Harry," Ginny insisted.

Hagrid glanced at the redhead appraisingly. "No, you're not," he said flatly. "Come on down to the hut and have some tea. I always mix Calming Draught in with it."

The three students, wrapped in thick winter robes, followed the gamekeeper down a path of melted snow to his hut. As they walked, Hermione asked, "So, Professor Snape makes Calming Draught for you?"

Hagrid shook his head. "No, I make it myself. It's very useful when I'm working with the animals – either I dose them to keep them calm while I bandage them, or I take a dose myself to keep _me_ calm while I bandage myself."

Hermione went quiet, and said nothing until they reached the hut. Harry, however, kept up small talk with the large man, eventually asking a question which had been floating around his head since he had gotten the first letter from Hagrid, the first Friday of the year. "Hagrid, please don't take this the wrong way, but why did you invite me to tea the first time, back in September? We didn't meet before the Sorting, so…"

Hagrid smiled. "I saw through Filius's illusion when I ran into you and him in Diagon Alley. He's pretty good, but I'm better at mind magics than him. Got the knack from my mum, you know." The big man knocked on his door once and it swung open, allowing them access to the hut. "And since you grew up with muggles, I was worried you might have been having trouble making friends."

It looked pretty much like it had the last time – there was more meat hanging now, and a pair of large barrels by one wall. The fire was banked up even higher, with a large cauldron sitting in it – the flames licked all the way to the edge of the iron bowl, which was filled with boiling blackish water.

"That was very nice of you, then," Harry smiled, thanking Hagrid, who blushed bright red with pleasure. "I'm glad I met you, even though I did make friends."

Ginny was still staring at the cauldron. "Hagrid," she asked, "what are you cooking there?"

Hagrid seemed to flinch. "Er. It's Calming Draught. It still has to simmer for –"

"No," Hermione interrupted. "I looked it up after the Incident, and Calming Draught has no black stage. That's _not_ Calming Draught."

Harry blinked, then leaned in closer to the cauldron. He only caught a glimpse before Hagrid's huge hand pulled him back, but it was enough. "There's an egg in there," he said flatly. "A big black egg. What kind of animal has to be hatched in heat?"

"Dragons," Ginny and Hermione said in unison. They glanced at each other for a moment before Hermione nodded to the redhead, and Ginny continued alone. "The color of the egg corresponds to the scale color, so that would have to be either a Norwegian Ridgeback, a Hibridean Black, or a Hungarian Horntail. One of my big brothers works with dragons," she explained to Hermione.

"So which is it?" Hermione demanded of Hagrid. "And what, exactly, are you going to do with a _dragon_? They're illegal for God's sake!"

Hagrid looked a little bashful. "It's a Norwegian Ridgeback," he confessed. "And I'm going to raise it."

Harry was flabbergasted. "Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_."

He shrugged. "I've already fireproofed it magically, and I'm working on reinforcing it." Hagrid plucked a twig from the ground and held it in his hand, causing it to glow for a moment. "See?"

Harry took the twig and tried to snap it, but it was too strong. "I see."

Ginny was amazed. "Wandless magic!"

Hagrid smiled. "I've always been good at wandless magic," he explained. "Another knack inherited from my mum. And of course, I had to get better after…" he looked away. "after I was expelled third year. But Dumbledore let me stay on and help old Ogg!" he declared. "Great man, Dumbledore, great man…"

Hermione cleared her throat. "But it's still illegal to raise a dragon, even if the house is fireproof and unbreakable. And it'll grow really fast, too! There won't be room for a dragon in this house three weeks after it hatches!"

"Ah, but I planned this out," Hagrid said. "It's due to hatch in mid-February, and I'll take him or her out back into the Forest two weeks later. It's big enough to be a hunting range for a Ridgeback, and then I can tell Dumbledore that one just migrated here."

Hermione still looked doubtful. "I should really tell the Headmaster…"

Hagrid looked panicked at this suggestion. "No! Don't!"

Harry smiled craftily. "How about this. We won't tell Dumbledore about your dragon, but you have to tell us about what you got from Gringotts on my birthday."

Hagrid swallowed, considering it. "All right," he finally said. "Dumbledore sent me to retrieve the last remaining Draughts of Life from one of Nicholas Flamel's vaults. There are three Draughts, and each can heal any wound – physical, mental, emotional, anything." The three children nodded – this they already knew, though not the exact number. "They're all thought to be destroyed," Hagrid continued, "but Dumbledore and old Nic thought that someone might've gotten wind of them and would try to get into Gringotts. And they were right, the vault was broken into that night." Hagrid sighed. "The Draughts are in the third-floor corridor now, behind safeguards from lots of the Professors. I lent him my Cerberus, Choudotos, to guard it, and I know that Professors Sprout, McGonagall, Flitwick, Adams, and Snape all did something too. And Flamel and Snape were working together on something before term started. Now that's all you're going to find out from me, so get back to the castle!"

* * *

**A/N: Choudotos is, roughly, Greek for "Fluffy". My more intelligent Hagrid wouldn't name a powerful, immortal guarding animal "Fluffy", you see. Not obviously, anyway.**

**Remember, reviews make me happy! Also, I can feed them to the troll that's sitting next to me so he'll eat them and not ****_me_****.**


	23. Chapter 23: What to Do with a Dragon

**A/N: Remember, folks, 100 reviews means a preview, and I can finally pay my way out of Azkaban to boot! I'm still looking for a beta, and a currently-minor edit has been made to chapter nine. Check it out and see if you can spot what's change, I'll give you an internet cookie.**

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny slowly returned to the castle, arguing about Hagrid's dragon.

"It's crazy!" Hermione insisted. "He lives in a _wooden house!_"

"Yes, Hermione," Ginny said wearily. "So you've said. Four times. But he's protected it, and he seems to have a good plan–"

"But he didn't hide the egg very well," Harry pointed out. "We saw it within a minute of entering the hut."

"Harry, how many people do you think visit Hagrid's hut?" Ginny demanded. "Us. No one else. Charlie said that even Dumbledore talks to him when he comes up for dinner."

Hermione gasped. "That's the answer!"

"What?"

"Charlie!" the bushy-haired Ravenclaw exclaimed. At Ginny and Harry's confused stares, she explained, "Ginny and Ron's big brother Charlie! He works at a dragon preserve in Romania, remember? He can come and get the dragon egg!"

Harry cocked his head to the side. "It _could_ work," he agreed. "The question is, how do we get it to him?"

Hermione was muttering now, apparently listing magical methods of transport. "We don't know anyone who can make a Portkey – well, anyone who can make one legally, anyway… Floo travel reacts badly to infants, which would include an egg… none of us can Apparate, and if Hagrid was expelled I doubt he can… I suppose that Charlie could Floo here and fly back, but that's a long way to travel by air… but he could Floo here and Apparate back!"

Ginny snorted. "Apparation can't go more than a hundred miles or so safely, and it can't go over big bodies of water, either. That's why international travel is done with long-distance Floos or Portkeys."

"Sorry," Harry interrupted, "but what's Floo? And a Portkey?"

"Portkeys," Hermione began to explain, "are objects that travel through space, taking whoever touches them, from one point to another. They travel through the same method as Apparation, but slower… I'm not sure what that means," she grudgingly said, "but they can't go as fast. They can go farther, and pass through anti-apparation wards, which is why it's against the law to make them without registering them."

"They _can_ go over water," Ginny added. "I'm not sure why Portkeys can and Apparation can't, but there you go. And then Floo travel is the closest thing that we have to how Phoenixes travel. It's from one fire to another, but the fire has to be saturated with the Floo powder, which is expensive, and it has to be from one fireplace to another, since it's controlled by the Ministry."

"Think of it as a telephone that you can step through," Hermione said, seeing that Harry still looked kind of confused.

"Okay," Harry said, nodding. "That makes a bit more sense. So those are the only ways of magical travel?"

"Well, broomsticks," Ginny said. "And there's an old story about pairs of doors and cabinets and such that you can step through. But yeah."

"Okay," Harry said, frowning. "And they best way to get rid of the dragon is…"

Hermione sighed. "I think the only way, if Apparation doesn't go over water, is to have Charlie fly it away."

"I still don't think that it needs to be taken away," Ginny insisted "Besides, I bet a real dragon would make a wonderful subject for sketching."

"Sure, if you can get it to not eat you," Harry agreed. "So, will you write to Charlie about our problem?"

Ginny frowned. "Yes. No. Maybe. I need to think about it more."

"That's the best we'll get," Harry said, stopping Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue. "Come one, it's time for dinner."

* * *

_Dear Charlie_

_How are you? Did you have any luck starting up that local Quidditch league? And how's the dragon preserve going? Last I heard it had at least one of every dragon except for the Horntail and the Ridgeback.  
Well, you remember how Hagrid likes to raise dangerous beasts, right? Like the chimera he got a hold of your fourth year? Well, he's got a dragon egg now, a Ridgeback. It's due to hatch mid-February, so only two weeks or so, and he plans to keep it in the Forest and claim that it migrated. Harry, Hermione and I think that it's best if you could come get it before then and take it to the preserve.  
Obviously, Hagrid doesn't want to get rid of it, but we think that if you come to "visit your family" and also drop in on him, you could convince him. Please? We're worried that the dragon will set to Forest on fire or something._

_Ginny_

Charlie's eyes widened as he read the letter from his little sister, and so did his smile. A Ridgeback for the preserve? What luck! And while Hagrid would be sad about it, it would be easier if he could get the egg before it hatched. Ginny had definitely made the right decision telling him. He made a mental note to buy her something nice for her birthday, maybe some magical pencils. As he mused, he began drafting a note to his boss, asking if he could take a few days semi-vacation.

* * *

The day after Ginny sent the letter to Charlie, she and Harry were in an abandoned classroom. Harry was posing on his broomstick while she sketched him.

"Argh!" she muttered, tearing another sheet off her sketchpad and crumpling it up. "This is so frustrating!"

"At least I'm getting practice at the Vanishing Charm," Harry pointed out. "_Evanesco._" The crumpled paper shudder for a moment before vanishing.

"I can draw monsters and buildings and magic and fire and smoke," Ginny complained. "Why can't I draw people?" She began another sketch.

Someone knocked on the door a few minutes later. "Come in," Harry called as Ginny tore another sheet. He hopped off his broom and put a hand on her shoulder as the door swung open. "Why don't you take a break?" he suggested. "I'm no artist, but I'm sure that being frustrated doesn't help."

Ginny sighed. "I suppose. But I really – Ron!"

Her twin was standing sheepishly in the door. "Hi Harry, hi Ginny," he whispered.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Have you finally figured it out?"

He sighed. "The Headmaster took me aside and explained about the potions. He didn't say who put them in, but I get the feeling that he knows."

"Anything else?" asked Ginny.

Ron shrugged. "Well, he asked if Bill was still interested in Potions. Seemed rather disappointed when I said that he was happy as Cursebreaker."

Harry glanced at Ginny, then back at Ron. "Well, I'm sorry that I blew up at you during… the Incident," he finally said. "Forgive me?"

Ron gaped. "_You're_ sorry! _I_ was the one who wouldn't listen. You were under a potion, I wasn't! I should be asking _your_ forgiveness!"

Harry shook his head. "I was under a potion, but it wore off quickly and I was able to fight it off once I realized what was going on," he insisted. "You were under a potion too, but it was a longer-lasting one that made you sad!"

Ron furrowed his brow. "I guess it's only wearing off now…" he said slowly. "Well, why don't we put this whole thing behind us? Just forget about it? It wasn't either of our faults, I guess, it was whoever spiked our drinks."

Harry nodded in relief. "Yeah, let's do that. That sounds good. How about a game of chess?"

Ron smiled. "You're on."


	24. Chapter 24: Collecting Weasleys

**A/N: As promised, a sneak peek of the next book. Book two will be called Harry Potter and the King of Serpents, the current version of the cover is here:  
fav . me/d5eqsfg  
and the first line of dialogue, from the middle of the story, goes like this:  
**_The blonde laughed, a high and cold sound that seemed simply _wrong_. "You think you can capture _me_? Me, the King of Serpents?"  
_**The next line comes from the end, and goes like this:**_**  
**__Ron managed a pained grin. "I got you, you bloody–" Ron gasped. "I _got_ you."_

* * *

Three days later, Professor Flitwick dropped by the table in the Common Room where Harry, Ron, and Neville were revising an essay for McGonagall.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley!" squeaked the little professor cheerfully. "I've come to collect you and your brothers."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Why are you collecting the Weasleys?" he asked. "Looking to get the whole set? Hello, Ginny."

"Hi Neville!" Ginny grinned, stepping out from behind Flitwick. "No, our brother Charlie's come."

"Can I come too?" asked Harry as Ron went up the stairs to fetch Percy and the older twins. "I mean–"

Flitwick shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Harry, but only family is allowed, and you're not related to the Weasley's closely enough."

Harry nodded. "Okay, I guess that makes – wait, does that mean that we _are_ related?"

"Of course," Flitwick agreed. "Did I forget to explain? All purebood families are related in some way, closely or not – you and the Weasleys are most closely related through the Blacks. Your paternal grandmother was Dorea Black, and Arthur Weasley's mother was a Black as well."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Okay… so why wasn't I left with the Weasleys instead of the _Dursleys_?"

Flitwick sighed. "Well, first of all they already had their younger twins, who were only a few months older than you, and saddling Molly and Arthur with another young child wouldn't have been fair to them," he explained. "But not only that, they aren't the closest wizarding family to your own. That would be the Malfoys, and Dumbledore didn't want to give you over into the clutches of Lucius and his ilk."

"What is it with people assuming that Draco's dad was a Death Eater?" Harry demanded as Ron returned with the elder twins. "He was found innocent by the Wizengamot! Don't they use Veritaserum?"

Professor Flitwick looked uncomfortable. "Well, no, they don't. Only if the accused requests to take Veritaserum, actually."

"Invasion of privacy, okay. I can see that." Harry thought for a moment. "He was under the Imperius curse, yes? Isn't there any way to check for that?"

"He was found to have _Imperius_ residue on him, yes. But Albus believes that it was a dormant spell, one which activated only if he tried to betray You-Know-Who."

"So the Headmaster says that he was a willing Death Eater."

"Yes."

Harry considered this. "Has he done anything to suggest it since he was captured?"

"No, and in fact he turned himself in within a few hours of Voldemort vanishing."

"So tell me again, why do you think he was a Death Eater?" Harry demanded. "He _did_ have an Imperius over him, he _did_ turn himself in, and he _hasn't_ been doing Death Eater things since then."

Flitwick blinked. "I never really thought of it that way. I…"

"The Headmaster's not perfect," Harry said. "No one is, Professor."

"I should bring the Weasleys to see their brother," Flitwick said after a moment of silence. "You've given me something to think about, Harry."

As the Weasleys left the Common Room, Neville asked, "What was all that about, Harry?"

"That was about justice, I suppose," Harry said. "The justice system isn't perfect, but people should at least assume it's correct. Innocent until proven guilty, right? Look at it and actually _think_. And if people actually think about that, maybe they'll notice that Sirius Black never got a trial. I know that he's probably guilty, but he's my best bet for leaving the Dursleys, and I don't really want to stay at Hogwarts over every summer until I turn 18."

"17. And is that what you're doing?"

"Yeah, I told you about overhearing Snape and Dumbledore, right? But what's this about 17?"

"Oh, yeah you did," Neville agreed. "And we come of age at 17. Do muggles come of age at 18?"

"Yup," Harry said. "Well, we stop being minors, anyway, so I could go and rent an apartment for the summer, or something."

"Huh."

They continued to rework their essays in silence for a while, occasionally asking for help from older Gryffindors, until Neville finished and rolled up his essay.

"Right, I've got to get to Greenhouse five. Sprout wants my help repotting the Babylonian Tongue-Violets."

"Hold on," Harry said, grabbing Neville's bag as he lifted it. "I need help with Gamp's Exceptions."

Neville sat back down. "What about them?"

"There are five, yes?" Harry asked. "Food, money, life, magic, and information."

"Yes…"

"And I understand why four of them can't be transfigured, but what about money? It's just another kind of matter, it's not a quality like life, magic, and information, and it's doesn't have some quality like food does. So why can't you make gold?"

Neville shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I put down something about how the goblins can tell the difference and won't accept it as money, but I got the feeling it was one of the laws of magic."

"But the Philosopher's Stone is supposed to have been able to make gold."

"Supposed to, yeah. Who's to say it really does? Now, I'm sorry I can't help more, but I really do need to help Sprout with those Tongue-Violets."

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in posting, but my homework loads right now are very high, and I can't write as often as I'd like. There was supposed to be one more scene in this chapter, but I figured you'd all prefer chapters on a more regular basis than to have slightly longer ones with longer times in between.**


	25. Chapter 25: Charlie and Hagrid

A few hours later, Harry was practicing the spell he had learned most recently_._ He swished his wand through the proscribed pattern, flicked it twice to the correct points, and jabbed at the wooden sphere resting on the table. _"Crystefferium!"_ The wooden sphere wobbled for a moment, then the color began to fade, and within a few seconds he could see straight through it. He grinned – he had done it!

"Oh, well done," he heard a high, fluting voice say from behind him. Harry turned and saw Professor Flitwick, with Percy, Ron, and the twins in tow. "You began learning that one today, yes?" Harry nodded. "Well, I commend you of a very well done spell. But it is actually very late. I suggest that you adjourn to your dorm room.

Harry blinked. Surely it couldn't be _that_ late. But when he glanced at the large grandfather clocks which flanked the fireplace, he saw that it was nearly midnight. "Yeah, I probably should," he agreed as the three older Weasleys began to head upstairs and Flitwick went to his own rooms. "Hey, Ron, how'd it go?"

Ron helped Harry gather up his books as he told about Charlie's visit. "The professor took us down to Hagrid's hut, because Charlie was there," he said, "Charlie had told the Headmaster that he wanted to talk to his favorite teachers, and of course Hagrid is closer to the gate than anywhere else. He had already worked out the egg thing by the time we got there, I think. He talked to all of us privately – I don't know what he talked to the others about, but Percy looked a little sick at the end of his, and Fred and George were kind of sad afterwards. Anyway, he told me and Ginny that he would sneak back down to Hagrid's in a few hours and put the egg and hot cauldron in a stasis spell of some sort, and then shrink them so he could hide them in his bag when he left. Pretty simple, right?"

"Yeah, it makes sense," Harry agreed. "So I guess he's leaving tomorrow morning?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, after breakfast."

Harry sighed in relief as they climbed the stairs. "Oh, good. The dragon will be away this time tomorrow."

Ron paused at the entrance to their dorm. "Hey… you've got that invisibility cloak, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So why don't you go sneak down to Hagrid's and meet Charlie? I'm sure he'd love it."

Harry considered this for a moment. "Alright," he agreed. "I'm not tired anyway."

* * *

Harry slipped out of the Common Room wrapped in the Cloak, completely invisible. As the Fat Lady swung shut she looked around blearily, then went right back to sleep.

Harry, meanwhile, climbed two staircases to get to the seventh floor, then paced in front of the wall to make a chute down to the Great Hall. He snuck by Mrs. Norris and trekked down the grounds towards Hagrid's hut.

As he approached, he saw a tall, thin figure shortly in front of him. As the figure passed through a patch of moonlight, Harry saw that its hair was bright red. It must be Charlie, he thought – that's Weasley red, after all.

Harry followed Charlie down to the hut, and darted in the door as Hagrid swung it open. Charlie came in a moment later, and Hagrid closed the door immediately.

"Where's the dragon?" Charlie asked drawing his wand. Hagrid pointed to the cauldron on the fire, and Charlie flicked his wand towards it. A transparent blue bubble formed around the cauldron, and everything within it slowed to a stop. Tongues of fire licking at the iron halted, becoming almost like a glass statue, and the bubbling liquid within froze like plastic. Charlie swished his wand over the bubble for a few moments, then nodded in satisfaction. "What are you bathing the egg in?"

"It's three parts water, two parts honey, one part Calming draught," Hagrid said, watching as Charlie began to shrink the bubble and its contents. "I'm pretty sure that the Calming draught will soak through the egg and keep the beastie, well, calm. And the honey is to keep it thick, of course."

"Of course," Charlie agreed. "That's actually a really good idea – do you mind if I steal it for the sanctuary? Assuming that it does work, of course."

"Not at all," Hagrid boomed. "I'm happy to be of help. I just wish…" he sighed. "I wish that I could go with him. But Dumbledore needs me, and no-one else knows how to get past Choudotos… "

"Oh, is the big furball finally guarding something?"

Hagrid nodded. "Dumbledore set him up in the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. He's guarding a whole series of rooms set up to protect… I really shouldn't say."

"Well, whatever it is well protected, with a Cerberus on guard," Charlie said, dropping the blue bubble, now the size of a baseball, into his bag. "As long as they don't know about playing music for him, anyway."

Hagrid snorted. "Sure, he goes right to sleep, but that's just him. All Cerberi have a unique trigger, you know that."

"Choudotos is almost 50 years old, though. I'm sure I'm not the only person who you told, and they could have told other people."

Hagrid waved a hand dismissively. "You, Dumbledore, and no-one else. Well, one, but he was on his way to Albania, so…"

"Who?"

"Some fellow I met in the Hog's Head a few weeks ago. He was the one who gave me the egg. He said that he was leaving and needed someone to do something with the egg, since he couldn't exactly take it as a carryon in the Floo."

"What did he look like?" Charlie asked curiously.

"I'm not sure He had his hood up, so I couldn't tell much. He's out of the country by now, so it doesn't really matter."

"Maybe you should tell Dumbledore anyway."

"You might be right there. I'll tell him tomorrow morning."

Harry gaped, under the Cloak. Someone knew how to get past the Cerberus! It had to have been Adams. He knew how to get through the corridor, and now must be only waiting for a chance…

* * *

Over the next several months, Harry and his friends kept a close watch on Adams. He seemed not to have change his routine at all – he passed by the 3rd floor corridor occasionally, but never paused, always continuing on his way. Hermione insisted on watching Professor Snape too, but he barely left the dungeons.

Neville's free time shrunk even more as he continued to work with Professor Sprout. He occasionally brought cuttings of the plants he was being shown up to the tower, but these were always dangerous. Before long his bed was surrounded by Venomous Tentaculas, bubotubers, and knotgrass. He managed to keep up with his homework, but only with lots of help from Hermione.

Harry won all of his Quidditch matches handily. His only real competition, surprising Ron, was from Hufflepuff – their Seeker last year had been mediocre, but this year they had recruited a fourth-year named Cedric Diggory. Diggory was surprisingly fast and nimble for his size, and actually spotted the Snitch before Harry could – only the superior speed of his Cruinneas enabled Harry to snatch the golden sphere before the older Hufflepuff could.

Draco never apologized for being glad that Harry and Ron had argued, but eventually that relationship returned to normal. Draco and Harry began to speak once more, and Harry continued to learn about the Wizarding world.

Harry occasionally received letters from Remus. He was always glad when Fawkes burst into flames and dropped a small package into Dumbledore's hands, because it invariably meant that a letter would be passed on to him the next morning. They were never as long as he'd like – only a few lines – but they still served as a reminder that someone cared.

A few weeks before exams, Adams still hadn't gone for the Draughts, and Harry was beginning to wonder if Dumbledore had been right and Adams could be trusted.

Harry was revising a Charms essay with Ron, when Fred and George swung by. They were muttering to each other about something, and Harry didn't pay them any attention until he heard them say "Adams" and "third floor."

Harry instantly turned to face them. "What was that?" he asked, pulse racing.

The twins looked at him, confused. "We were just wondering why Adams is in the forbidden corridor," one of them said.

"We can't tell you how we know," said the other, "but that where he is."

Ron and Harry stood. "We've got to go." Ron said. "Pack up our stuff, will you?"

"Sure, but–"

"Which greenhouse is Neville in today?"

"Four. Ginny and Hermione are in the library, right?"

"I'll get Neville, you get the girls and meet me at the entrance."

* * *

**A/N: We're finally nearing the end of book 1. I estimate another 3 chapters in Draught of Life before King of Serpents starts. Reviews make me happy and I can use them as ammo to shoot the invading army of goblins, so please read and review!**


	26. Chapter 26: Past the Cerberus

Harry hurried down to Greenhouse Four, patting his pockets to check for the Cloak and his wand as he went. Yes, his wand was in his pocket and the handle was easily accessible – yes, the invisibility cloak was in the pocket of his under-robes. He dodged around Professor Babbling as he exited the Hall, sprinting down the grounds towards the Greenhouse at the edge of the forest. He had to slow as he approached, gasping for breath – he really needed to do more exercise than just Quidditch, he thought to himself.

"Neville!" he shouted, pulling the door open. "Neville, it happened?"

Neville was the only person in the Greenhouse – he was sitting in a corner, trimming what appeared to be a miniature oak tree. The round-faced boy blinked. "What happened?"

"Adams is going for the Draughts."

Neville carefully set down the tiny pair of clippers. "Well then, I guess we'd better get going. Help me lift this tree, will you?"

Harry swished and flicked, and together he and Neville levitated the tree and its weighty pot up to the top of a nearby cupboard. "What kind of plant is that, anyway?" he asked. "Doesn't look like anything I've ever heard of."

"It's an oak tree," Neville said as they exited the Greenhouse and began to jog up to the castle. "It's just trimmed regularly, so it never grows very large – but it looks like a full sized one. It's called bonsai, and you can do it with lots of trees. Professor Sprout showed me how."

"Cool."

"So, Adams is going for it?" Neville asked. "How'd you find out? I thought that you and Ron had to revise tonight. Were the girls watching?"

Harry shook his head as they entered the Hall. "No, we heard Fred and George talking about it. I'm not sure how they knew, actually, I should ask them about it…"

"Maybe they set up a detection spell on the door to tell them if anyone went through," Neville suggested. "I can't think why they would, though…"

"Look, there's Ron and the girls," Harry said, speeding up. "Ron!"

"Harry," Hermione said, turning to face him and Neville. "back me up. We should tell Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick."

"No!" said Ron. "What would they do? Adams is already inside, and by the time we get them and come back, he'll already be out!"

"You're both right," Harry snapped before Hermione could open her mouth to argue. "One of us should go fetch Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, _and_ Professor Flitwick. All of them."

There was a moment of silence, then both Ron and Ginny said, "I'll go," at the same time. They glanced at each other, then Ginny continued.

"We don't know what kind of obstacles are beyond that door," she said, calmly. "Maybe there's some difficult piece of spellwork that only Hermione can do," she nodded to Hermione, "or an exotic plant that Neville knows all about. Harry's the best at flying, and Ron, you're the best at chess – Professor McGonagall loves chess, so I'm sure that her thing has something to do with it."

"Don't be silly, Ginny," Ron said. "Chess? It's more likely we'll need your history knowledge. You're the best with monsters, too, so…"

"We already know how to get past Choudotos, Ron," Harry said. "I guess there could be some more, but…"

"Just do rock paper scissors," Hermione suggested. "Winner comes in."

Neville and the young twins looked blankly at her. "What's rock paper scissors?" Neville asked.

"Flip a knut," Harry said.

"Oh, I know that one," Ron said, "but goblin coins aren't like muggle ones, they just have the Gringotts seal on both sides."

"Why is this so complicated?" Neville demanded. "Look, let's just all go, and I'm sure the professors have something to tell them if anyone goes in. They'll be along in a bit, I bet."

"Fine," Harry said. "Can we go in now? Good." He reached out and swung open the door.

* * *

They all began singing as they entered the Cerberus's room. "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream!" Hermione and Harry sang.

"Charms and jinxes are quite simple, hexes can give you a pimple," Neville, Ron, and Ginny began, in a completely different tone. The two tunes clashed horrible, and Choudotos began to growled.

"What on earth was that?" Ron demanded as they leapt outside the corridor again. "Was that supposed to be a song?"

"Yes Ron, it's quite common among muggles," Hermione snapped. "What was _that?"_

"A wizarding song," Ginny said, running her fingers through her hair. "It's about the different kinds of spells. But if we're going to sing that dog to sleep, we need to agree on a sing. Clearly you two don't know 'Charms and Jinxes'…"

"Do you know 'Merlin's Hymn'?" Neville suggested.

"No, how about 'All God's Creatures'?" asked Harry.

Ron paused for a moment. "Surely you know 'the Ballad of Earth and Sky'."

"No, we don't," Hermione said. "Have you heard 'Mary Had a Little Lamb"?"

"'The Fires of Master Dee'?"

"'Puff the Magic Dragon'?"

"Look, it's clear that we don't share any songs," Hermione finally said. "I think the only thing for Harry and I to sing one of ours, and then you three will jump down before us."

"Fine," Ron said. "Let's try this again."

They stepped into Choudotos' lair once more, and Harry and Hermione began singing 'Row Your Boat' again. The enormous dog quieted immediately, staring at them. They continued singing, and after a minute or so all six of the Cerberus's eyes had closed, and it slept. Harry and Hermione continued singing while Ron opened the trapdoor, and then they all leapt down it together.

After a moment of falling, some force caught them, and they slowed to a stop on a cold stone floor. Harry glanced around curiously, noticing some potted plants. "What're those, Neville?" he asked, pointing them out.

Neville stepped closer to one of them, then suddenly jerked back. "Mandrakes!" he cried. "Look for any that aren't potted!"

They turned, but saw nothing. "Adams must have gotten them all," Hermione finally said. "Let's move on." One of the walls was soon found to have a door, a door with an empty pot where there should have been a doorknob. They stared at it.

"So much for Adams doing the work for us," Ron said morosely.

"Okay, I think that we're supposed to put a mandrake into the door's pot," Neville said after a moment of though. "But as soon as I pull one out it'll start to scream. There aren't any enchanted earmuffs around, so… Hermione, can you cast a Silencing spell?" She shook her head. "Then we'll have to just dig our fingers into our ears as best as we can. I'll pick the youngest one I can find – that and covering our ears will hopefully reduce it to only knocking us out, if the ear covering isn't good enough."

The round-faced boy walk around the edge of the room, inspecting the leaves sprouting from each pot, until he found one that seemed to satisfy him. He levitated the pot closer to the door, then told the group to cover their ears.

Harry covered his along with everyone else, but realized that there was a problem, just too late – Neville couldn't cover his own ears. "Wait!" he shouted, but of course no one but Neville could hear him. Neville pulled up the Mandrake anyway, revealing what seemed to be a screeching wooden creature…

His eyes turned upwards and he began to fall…

_Towards_ the door, plopping the Mandrake into the soil just before his eyes closed.

"Neville!" Hermione cried, dropping down besides his body and pressing her ear to his chest. After a moment, she sighed in relief. "He's just unconscious. He'll be fine, I think."

"Good," everyone else said, relieved. After a moment, Ginny snickered. "Are you going to stay like that?"

Hermione blushed and stood. "So, the door should be open now." And indeed, the door had swung open.

"Neville will be fine here until we come back for him," Harry said, pulling his body over to a wall to lean up against it. "Or until a professor comes, I guess. Let's go through to the next room."

The next room was small and square. The door was plain iron, with a small keyhole, and there was a blank painter's canvas standing next to it. An elaborate iron key floated in mid-air next to the door.

"That seems pretty simple," Ginny said, walking up to the floating key. "I'm not sure what the canvas is for, but clearly this is the key to the door." She grabbed the key, but her hand went right through. "Wait, what?"

"It's a glamour," Hermione said, furrowing her brow. "I guess we're supposed to conjure a key that looks like that?"

"Conjuration is way above our level, there's no way we could do that," Harry said despondently.

Suddenly, there was a _clang_ from the direction of the canvas. They turned to see Ron, standing there with a quill in his hand, and a small metal stick-figure lying on the ground.

"What did you do, Ron?" Ginny demanded.

"I just drew a stick figure," Ron said, pointing at the canvas, "and it fell off. Look." He picked up the metal figure from the ground.

"That's it!" Hermione exclaimed. "Ginny, draw the key on the canvas!"

Ginny gave her a skeptical look, but she sketched out the floating key on the white paper. As soon as she finished, it began to slide down the canvas, and she caught it as it fell. "That's… weird." But when she inserted it into the iron door's keyhole, the door and key both faded away, leaving the way into the next room clear.

"Never mind, let's just keep moving," Harry said, stepping through.

The next room was large and dim. The only light came from a small white globe floating in the center, but that was enough to make out the huge troll that was making its way around the edge of the room. It was at least two feet taller than the one that Harry and Ron had fought on Halloween, and rather than a crude log, it held a long metal rod with a huge stone rock on the end as a club.

Ginny said, very very quietly, "Eep," and fainted dead away. Hermione didn't look too good either.

"Hermione try and wake Ginny up," Harry ordered, taking charge as Ron looked the troll up and down and glanced around the room. "Ron, what do you think?"

"I think that this troll's club is too heavy to levitate like the one on Halloween," he said, furrowing his brow as though planning out a move in a chess game. "We might be able to get it together, but it's far from certain. I think that a better move is to use one of those." Ron pointed to a sword that hung on the wall.

Harry hadn't noticed, since they were set into the wall a little and were the same flat grey, but there were swords set all along the walls of the room. "That troll will notice us soon," he said warningly. "What do you mean, use the swords?"

"They're light enough for use to levitate and manipulate, right?" Ron said, and Harry nodded. "But they're only up and down, so we can't stab the troll in any vulnerable places like that. Its skull is too thick, and the only other place we could get is its shoulders."

"So…"

"So we make it laugh," Ron said with a smirk. "Tickling charms. Make it laugh hard enough to open its mouth, and then drop a sword or too in there. Maybe it won't kill it, but it'll be confused enough for us to get by."

Harry considered this for a moment, then grinned fiercely. "Let's do it. I'll tickle, you drop. _Rictusempra!"_ He cast at the troll, which began to giggle uncontrollably, a noise which was simply _wrong_ coming from something as ugly as that. Ron levitated a sword from its place on the wall and held it near the trolls head until, finally, the big beast threw its head back and began laughing, big, booming laughs with its mouth wide open. Ron quickly dropped a sword in, and the troll stopped laughing instantly, instead making a confused sort of "glump?" noise.

Harry and Ron helped Hermione carry Ginny around the trolls back and through the door as the troll tried to figure out what it had in its mouth. Harry managed to swing the door closed before he began laughing uncontrollably himself, Ron joining him moments later.

After a few minutes, they calmed down, and knelt next to Hermione over Ginny. "So, is she okay?"

"She's fine," Hermione said, after a moment. "She's been really stressed out lately, and I guess that was just the last straw. I think we should let her rest, but one of us should stay behind to make sure she's okay."

"I'll do that," Ron said instantly. "She's my sister, after all."

Hermione nodded, standing, and she and Harry turned to look down what seemed to be a long corridor. There was a small sign on the floor, saying _He who would find Life must walk alone._

"What do you suppose that means?" Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip. "I think it means that only one person can go in at a time."

"Then we've already lost," Harry said. "Adams is in there, and no one else can enter…"

"Maybe it means one person from any group," Hermione suggested. "In which case one of us could go in."

"Let's just both try it," Harry said. They began walking down the corridor, but the door at the end didn't seem to be getting any closer.

Hermione stopped after a few minutes and looked back. "Harry," she said, grabbing his arm.

"What?" he asked, turning. "Oh." They hadn't moved at all – the sign was still only a few feet behind.

After a moment, Hermione said, "Try going alone, Harry."

So Harry walked, and in only a few minutes was at the door. "I guess Hermione was right," he said to himself, and stepped through.


	27. Chapter 27: Professor Adams

_So Harry walked, and in only a few minutes was at the door. "I guess Hermione was right," he said to himself, and stepped through._

* * *

Stepping through the door, Harry quickly took stock of the room. It was a large, circular area, with the floor dropping in height every five feet or so, leading down to a pit at the bottom. The pit was filled with a familiar swirling silver-blue mist, which Harry recognized as the same acid Snape had brewed, and Harry could see three specks of blood-red at the bottom of the pool. Although the surface of the acid only came to the second level, it reached out with numerous tentacles which wove through the air and through each other, filling most of the air up to the third level. Next to the door, there were three broom racks – one was empty, but the other two still held brooms – Harry recognized them as Cleansweep Sixes, just like the one Oliver Wood had.

The third broom was currently hovering over the pool of acid, slowly drifting in a circle. Adams, wrapped as always in his blue cloak, was sitting astride it, staring down at the pool of mist. After a moment, he flicked his wand, conjuring a small stone ball – when it fell into the mist, tendrils snatched it and tore it apart. Moments later, the stone ball has disappeared entirely.

"Interesting," Adams mused to himself. "Based on _mimbulus _and acromantula venom, clearly. But what of the other ingredients?" He began casting at the pool, murmuring spells that caused flashes of light to bounce up from the surface of the acid. Meanwhile, Harry crept quietly over to the rack of brooms and took one down, mounting just as the Defense Professor spoke again. "Ah, quarandel flower! Elegant as always, Severus… the blood of the young will pass me by." He glanced down at himself and chuckled dryly. "This body is too old, though. I sure there are some children breaking curfew, though, so little loss." The broom turned, and suddenly stopped when he saw Harry flying towards him. "_You."_ Adams' voice now held more hatred than Harry had ever felt from a person, second only to the loathing that had permeated the Restricted Section.

"Me," Harry said, sounding braver than he felt. This was Professor Adams, who had been a renowned auror and had demonstrated his skill in Defense class. Even the advantage Harry would have over most people on a broom was negated – Adams had been a professor Quidditch player. In fact, there was only one thing he might do that might surprise the former Auror.

* * *

_:flashback:_

"Today, we'll talk a little bit about magical shields," Professor Adams said clearly and precisely as he paced across the front of the classroom. It was the day after Remus's guest lecture, and Adams seemed determined to prove that he too he could teach theoretical Defense, not just give the practical lessons he had been doing since the beginning of the school year. "Most are too difficult and require too much magic for you to cast, but I'll teach you the simplest shield at the end of the period. Now, who can name the most common magical shield. "Abbott?"

Hannah Abbott put her hand down, saying, "_Protego,_ the basic shield charm."

"Correct, three points to Hufflepuff. Can anyone explain why it's called the _basic_ shield charm?"

"Because most other shield charms are variations on it," said Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Give an example, Finch-Fletchley."

"_Protego totallum,_the strong shield charm. It takes much more power, but can block all spells."

"All spells minus one," Adams qualified, "but yes. Two points to Hufflepuff. What kinds of spells can a basic shield charm not block… Patil?"

"Um… really strong ones?"

"Not the answer I was looking for, but accurate, so one point to Gryffindor. _Protego_ will allow many stronger spells, like _colatus_ and _obliviate_, to pass right through, as well as breaking when exceptionally strong spells are cast at it. I'm looking for a different class of spells entirely. Potter, do you know?"

"Charms and transfigurations," Harry guessed.

"Exactly, five points to Gryffindor." Adams said with a faint smile. "_Protego_ only protects against combat spells – jinxes, hexes, and curses, as long as they are not too strong for it. But transfigurations and charms are not combat spells, and thus pass through the basic shield charm. _Protego totallum_ will block those as well, and doesn't let the very strong spells through. So, most shield charms are limited to combat spells. There are various strengths and weaknesses to the different shield charms, but all share one common point of failure. Who knows what it is?"

Susan Bones raised her hand. "Solid objects."

"Correct, five points to Hufflepuff. A solid object – a conjured and banished object, for example, will pass right through any shield charm. So, list ways to strike at an enemy through a basic shield charm."

Everyone in the classroom began to call out ideas. "Disrupt their spells with _aquamenti!_"

"Summon something from behind them!"

"Cast _lumos_ at their eyes!"

"Silence them so they can only cast wordlessly!"

"Banish something at them!"

"Tackle them!"

"Repeat that, Weasley," Professor Adams said over the din, quieting everyone instantly. "Say it again."

Ron gulped. "Ah… tackle them."

"Weasley is quite correct. The best way for a young wizard such at yourself to pass through a shield charm is to charge at your opponent physically. Knock their wand out of their hands if you can, but get inside the radius of their shield and you can strike easily. Most wizards will be quite surprised by a physical attack as well, so you'll have the element of surprise on your side nearly every time. Now, let's try the simple shield charm," Adams said, drawing his wand. "It can only protect against jinxes and weak hexes, but that's all you're likely to be attacked with at this age. The incantation is _oplindo,_ and the wand motion is like so…"

_:end flashback:_

* * *

Harry turned his broomstick to point directly at the Professor and leaned forward, accelerating directly at him.

Adams' eyes widened, just for a moment, before he dropped several feet down, out of Harry's way. "You would touch me, _me_?" he sneered. Something seemed familiar to Harry about that sneer, but it was pushed from his mind by the professor's net words. "I am no simple mage, foolish child, I am the Heir of Slytherin!"

"That's a lie," Harry snapped. "Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin, and he's dead now."

Adams smiled coldly, beginning to chuckle, and within moments was laughing. "You don't understand the power of Lord Voldemort, Potter," he said a few moments later, after dodging another charge from Harry. "Power greater than any other wizard, great enough to conquer death itself! _I_ am Voldemort, Potter!"

"You're insane," Harry snapped, charging again.

This time, Adams didn't just dodge. He flicked his wand at Harry, sending a burst of blue light at him. Harry swerved around it and sent a _petrificus totallus_ at the Defense professor, but missed.

Harry began flying circles around the professor, forcing him to turn around in order to keep an eye on Harry. After a few minutes of this, he closed his eyes and began hissing something, a strange and guttural sound.

"_|This body is not my own, free me from it. I would roam on my own, as vapor and shadow. Let me be free.|" _He opened his mouth, and a black, tar-colored smoke began to pour from him. More and more, a seemingly never-ending stream of dark mist emitted from Adams' body, a familiar face forming as it stretched towards Harry.

A long, thin nose, close in the rest of his face. Large, slightly slanted eyes. High, curving eyebrows. A pair of thin, cruel lips. A face that Harry had seen in his nightmares since the day after Halloween.

The face of Voldemort.

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

The dark cloud of Voldemort's soul, still pouring forth from Adams' mouth, stretched towards Harry, who frantically pulled his broom short and did his best to stop. As though in slow motion, he saw two arm-like tendrils stretching towards him, leaning in to touch his face.

"_|I will take your body for my own,|" _Voldemort whispered in that same hissing tone. _"|I will lock you away within your own mind and rise to power anew. You will _watch _as I use your fame to create a new world, better than this own, and you will know, Harry Potter, that you have failed!|"_ The tendrils, now shaped properly like arms, stretched horribly and wrapped around Harry, cutting off his retreat, before grabbing his face.

But as those black, smoky hands touched Harry's face, Harry felt heat where his skin touched Voldemort's soul. The Dark Lord, however, seemed to feel actual pain – he _screamed_, and the smoke, bubbling and frothing where it touched Harry, immediately began to retract back into Adams' body where it still billowed forth.

Acting on instinct, Harry chased Voldemort back to the body, slowing to a halt as it all reentered and the possessed professor began to rouse. He reached out and grasped Adams' face, and it too began to burn and bubble.

Voldemort, within Adams' body, opened his eyes to the same unbearable pain, and all he could do was reach up and try to push Harry away. But Harry's grip was too strong, and he accomplished nothing but burning his hands again.

Harry watched, feeling an odd sense of detachment, as Adams' face burned. Within moments it was nothing but a skull covered in a thin layer of muscle, as were the Dark Lord's hands. He failed to notice, though, when Voldemort reached down into his robes to draw his wand. He didn't realize the danger he was in until he felt a poke in his belly, and the burnt skull in front of him, somehow still alive, whispered from a hoarse throat.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was a mighty boom, and Harry felt as though a troll had slammed him in the gut. He went flying across the room and landed on the platform, just as the door swung open. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Voldemort reaching into his robes and suddenly collapsing in upon himself, disappearing along with the rest of the world.

And then there was darkness.

**SCENE BREAK GOES HERE**

**A/N: I hope it's clear that parseltongue is in italics and has |s on the inside of the quotation marks, _"|Like so.|"_**

**The reason for Voldemort's possession of Adams being different from his possession of Quirrell will be explained in chapter 28.**

**Speaking of the next chapter, it will take longer than normal, and I apologize for that. While Ch 28 might be a little shorter than a normal chapter, I intend to plan out book two in more detail and write the first chapter of it before finishing off DoL. That way, I can upload the first chapter of KoS and have the link to it right at the end of DoL. I hope you'll forgive me the longer-than usual update time, because you'll get about twice as much for your wait, and you're getting this one a day or so early, too.**


	28. Chapter 28: Afterwards

**A/N: I just wanted to address a concern of an anonymous reviewer who left a review on chapter 17. This anon declared that Remus was despicable for a couple of reasons – that he told Dumbledore it wasn't his fault he hadn't known about how the Dursleys treated Harry, that Remus should've checked in on Harry himself, and that he didn't have the guts to tell Harry he was a werewolf.**

**Now, Dumbledore blamed himself for not checking in and assuming that the Dursleys were basically decent people who would have happily taken in their nephew. Remus tells him that he had no way of knowing, and that it therefore wasn't his fault. Dumbledore has never really encountered a family as terrible the Dursleys were, and we all know that he believes everyone has good in them. Of course Remus, knowing this, would try to comfort him. You would do the same thing for one of your friends.**

**Now, as for the charge that Remus should have checked himself. Agreed – but remember that Dumbledore asked Remus not to stay in Britain, because he worried that Remus would take Harry to raise him himself, which he admits was a fair cop. This would have led to considerable legal trouble, of course, as werewolves aren't allowed to raise children. So Remus instead went to America for those 10 years, from which it would've been very difficult to pop in on Harry. It took him about a month and a half to return to England, after all. Canon Remus didn't even have that excuse, as far as we know.**

**Finally, Remus not having the guts to tell Harry he's a werewolf. It's not the kind of thing you go throwing about, now is it? He didn't even tell the Marauders, they figured it out themselves. Not only that, he had no way to know how Harry would react.**

**Anyway, sorry for the long author's note – I normally do this kind of thing in a PM, but I can't for an anonymous reviewer, and he raised a few good points.**

* * *

Harry opened his eyes to a depressingly familiar sight – the blurry hospital wing, with someone breathing quietly and regularly beside his bed. He sat up and let out a soft cry of pain, clutching at his midsection.

"Harry!" The Headmaster, who had been sitting next to him, had awoken. He was now looking worriedly at Harry, who was clutching at his side.

"I'm fine, sir," Harry said, wincing. "Just a cracked rib, I think. I've had them before."

Dumbledore's eyes burned with a cold rage for a moment before it was buried beneath his normal calm demeanor and faint smile. "I think that Madam Pomphrey will have to give you a full medical examination," he said brightly. "Or perhaps a professional Healer from St. Mungo's."

"Would that interfere with preparing for the exams, sir?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore cocked his head to the side for a moment. "It might," he conceded. "Alright, over the summer, then. But you'll have to sleep in here for the rest of the school year. You were very badly injured, Harry."

There was silence for a few minutes, then Harry asked, "What exactly happened, sir? I thought I heard him cast the Killing curse, but I'm not dead, right?"

The headmaster shook his head. "You are not dead, Harry, but to answer that question we have to go back to the night Voldemort came for you. You see, when he killed your mother, it seems to have formed a very powerful sort of protection upon you – only against him, but he was unable to harm you. Perhaps she had cast some powerful blood ritual to protect you from her killer, because it seems to have been attached to her bloodline- that is why I took you to the Dursleys, to keep it alive.

"That protection seems to have survived thus far, but I doubt it will for much longer if you must stay with them. Their hatred for will only grow as you learn more of your heritage. But it served you well when you met with Voldemort again, last week."

"Last week?" Harry asked. "I've been unconscious for a _whole week_?"

"Yes, Harry, you have," Dumbledore said. "Your friends have been here nearly every day, too. I had to order them to return to class. But let us return to the tale. Had the Dursleys treated you as they should, Voldemort, even shielded by the body of poor Alan Adams, could not have even entered your presence. But thanks to them, your protection was weak, and could barely reach beyond your flesh. The touch of your flesh upon him damaged him dearly and deeply, burning him, as I'm sure you saw. But it didn't merely damage Voldemort's body, it damaged what remained of his soul.

"When you seared his flesh so deeply, it seems that you damaged his capacity to use magic. While he still has the same level of power, he couldn't shape it. When he attempted to cast the Killing curse, it came out as nothing more than a burst of random, uncontrolled magic, which flung you away. He was able to take advantage of this momentary lull and escape using a Portkey, which as you may or may not know can depart through anti-disapparation fields."

"But how can he still be alive?" Harry asked, remembering Voldemort's state before his had disappeared. "I could see his skull!" he exclaimed, somewhat hysterically. "And how did he survive the first time, too!"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I cannot explain how he survived his first death, but I know how he lived through this. He was not in his own body, but rather possessing that of poor Alan. I fear that he will remain in Alan's body until he can reacquire a body with the capacity for magic."

"How long will that take?" Harry demanded. "And how did he get into Adams, anyway? I heard Professor Snape say that he had fought off possession before."

"I don't know how long it will take – I've never made a study of resurrection rituals," said Dumbledore. "I'll have to confer with a friend of mine who works in the Department of Mysteries on that one. But I have discovered what happened to Alan When I first approached him to ask about teaching Defense for a year, he demurred – shortly after that he was attacked by a swarm of Dementors. Remus told you that Dementors are declared Dark by the American Ministry, yes?" Harry nodded, and the headmaster continued, "whenever they enter America, they are to be driven off by an Auror team. This particular swarm, it seems, was accompanied by a dark cloud which seemed to lead them. Alan was apparently Kissed, but managed to fight off the Dementors, which dispersed. What became of the dark cloud was never discovered, but I think we now know."

"Voldemort was the cloud," Harry guessed, "and he was able to possess Adams because there was no soul to drive him off."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "So it seems. When a person is Kissed, though, their memories remain, and can be read by a competent legilimens, and, of course, Voldemort is more than competent. He used those memories to perfectly impersonate Alan, and contacted me to say that the Dementor attack had changed his mind, and he wanted to take a break from Auror work."

Harry yawned. "What about the Draughts? What happened to them?"

"Nicholas has contacted me to say that I should keep them, but release a private statement to those few that know some remain, saying that they were destroyed during a theft attempt. He himself is going into hiding, in case Voldemort decides to go after the source. But now, Harry, I think you should return to your rest. You'll be fine in time for your exams, I think, and…"

Before the aged Headmaster could finish, though, Harry was already lying back and dozing. Dumbledore smiled a little before rising to tell Madam Pomphrey that Harry had woken.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Harry managed to get caught up on his schoolwork, with Hermione's help. But after what he had been through, he was unable to muster any nervousness or excitement for the approaching first-year exams, especially after Fred and George told him that they rarely tested anything taught after Easter. "No one ever fails the exams," one of them had said. "It's the OWLs and NEWTs you have to watch out for." Hermione, of course, was going frantic anyway, despite all attempts to calm her.

But surprisingly, Harry's friends weren't the only people who visited him. Professor Flitwick stopped by to show him the charm they were learning in the last week before exams (the umbrella charm) and to absolutely forbid him from doing anything that foolish ever again. "We're brave, not stupid," squeaked the diminutive professor.

Professor Snape stopped in too, supposedly to deliver more medicinal potions to Madam Pomphrey, but he ended up staying for several minutes to tell Harry about the principle of brewing that was the subject of the next week. Harry didn't understand it very well, but the professor promised to show him over the summer, so that was okay.

Draco stopped in with a swollen hand, and told Harry that Professor Adams had been killed in a tragic accident while attempting to invent a shield which would reflect incoming spells rather than absorb them. Harry was quite surprised by this, but supposed that it wouldn't have been a good idea to tell the world what had really happened. Most of his friends, of course, had already known. Harry quickly filled in Draco on the truth.

"Well," Draco said, "That might explain my bad news. My father plans to take a greater interest in the school next year, and I feel certain that he wouldn't approve of us associating. You're known to be a friend to mu-ggleborns, and he wouldn't want me to be friends with you. As it is, we can pretend that we're just cordial Potions partners. Fair?"

Harry shrugged. "He's your dad. Sure, we can pretend not to be as friendly."

Draco smiled. "He'll be coming to see me onto the Hogwarts Express, and my mother will pick me up, so make sure not to be too familiar," he warned, and left shortly after.

* * *

The day before exams, Harry was released from the hospital wing, under the condition that he return each night. He wished he could return to Gryffindor Tower, but at least he would be staying there all summer.

Exams went as expected. After waiting for the two weeks it took for OWL and NEWT students to take their exams, Harry got his scores back in a cloud of owls, one for every student in the Great Hall. A few owls, apparently waiting for student no in the Hall yet, swirled around the ceiling confusedly.

"Oh, I hope I did well," Hermione fretted, her untouched plate of food sitting forgotten in front of her as she stared up, waiting for her own owls. She and Ginny had joined the Gryffindors as usual.

"Mmph mmph mmph mmph, mmph mmph," said Ron, already on his third plate.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Ginny said absentmindedly, doing her best to eat, but only doing slightly better than Hermione. Her bowl of oatmeal was only half empty.

Ron swallowed and repeated himself, saying, "First in our year, I'm sure." Hermione didn't look very reassured, though.

"Look, here come Gryffindor's owls!" Neville cried, pointing as a cloud of owls peeled off from the main group and dived towards their table. Harry spotted the gleaming golden-silver of Tantalus among them, eyes fixed on Harry's own.

They all raised their arms to catch the envelopes which plummeted towards them, then, with a mighty shriek, the owls turned in unison and flew back out of the Hall. Another group broke away from the main flock and began descending towards the Ravenclaw table. Two of them split off to deliver to Hermione and Ginny, who snatched their letters as though they were starving, and could only eat paper.

Harry tore open his envelope with a clean butter knife, wondering how he did. The whole world of school still seemed far away from him, after the battle with Adams. Ron had just declared that he wasn't going to look at his letter until he was finished with his plate, but Ginny, Hermione, and Neville were all opening theirs.

**Harrison James Potter, your scores for the 1991–1992 school year are:  
– Astronomy –** A  
**– Charms –** E  
**– Defense –** O  
**– Herbology –** E  
**– History –** A  
**– Potions –** O  
**– Transfiguration –** E  
**Your overall average is E. Your placing within your House and year is first. The top seven for your year are:  
1. Hermione Granger – O  
2. Padma Patil – O  
3. Terence Boot – O/E  
4. Blaise Zabini – O/E  
5. Harrison Potter – E  
6. Drakael Malfoy – E  
7. Ginevra Weasley – E  
Please expect your book list for the 1992–1993 school year on or around August 4****th****.**

**_Professor Minerva McGonagall_, Deputy Headmistress  
_Professor Filius Flitwick_, Head of Gryffindor House**

Harry smiled, and nudged Ron. "How'd you do?"

"An E average," Ron said with a shrug. "I'm not in the top seven, but at least I'm above what the Ministry says is average – that's an E/A. I wonder who was on it."

Harry peered at Ron's scores. The top seven wasn't listed there. "I guess it's only listed for the people on it," he said, showing Ron his letter.

"Hey, you made number five!" he exclaimed, taking it. "And Hermione, I told you you'd get the top."

"I managed to nudge my way in too," Ginny said with a wide smile, showing Neville her scores. "Mum'll be pleased. I didn't think I'd make it."

Ron grinned. "I knew you would. You got all the brains, after all. I had to take the good looks."

* * *

A few days later, after attending the graduation of the 7th years, Harry wished his friends well as they boarded the Hogwarts Express to return to London and Platform 9¾. He hugged Ginny and Hermione, clapped hands with Ron and Neville, and exchanged a curt nod with Draco under the watchful eye of the elder Malfoy. As the Hogwarts Express chugged onwards, Harry pondered where he would have been if not for Hogwarts. Probably locked in the cupboard already, either blamed for something he didn't do by Dudley or because of accidental magic. Instead, he had free rein of an enormous magical castle, and would be allowed to cast magic over the summer – under the supervision of the live-in professors, true, but it was more than Ron could say. Harry smiled. The summer awaited.

* * *

**A/N: Drakael is what I've decided Draco's full name is, and, if I'm correct, loosely means "dragon of god". Terrence Boot is Terry Boot, and, while Harry is occasionally a person's entire first name, it's more commonly short for Harrison. We all should know that Ginny's full name is Ginevra, not Virginia.  
**

**Now, I have a request to make of all my readers. This series is mainly a story for me, to improve my writing skills. Therefore, while I like reviews of all sorts, my favorite kind of review is the kind that tells me something I did wrong and what I should have done instead. _If you have read my story and haven't reviewed, please, leave a review telling me one thing I did well, one thing I did badly, and one thing I can improve._ This will help me become a better writer.**

**Otherwise, here's the link to Harry Potter and the King of Serpents:  
s/8650603/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-King-of-Serpents  
**

**And here's the link to a mediafire download of Harry Potter and the Draught of Life, in PDF form:  
view/?ibojsxm5g4fspa4  
**


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